


Blood and Fire

by Soledad



Series: The Lost Voyages of the Next Generation [3]
Category: Star Trek - The Next Genaration
Genre: Canon-Compliant, M/M, Other, Regulan blood worms, Script Rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7429007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My own version of David Gerrold's famous rejected TNG-script.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foreword

Once upon a time, in the first year of “Star Trek – The Next Generation”, veteran Star Trek writer David Gerrold (also known as the father of the Tribbles) pitched a story about a ship infested with Regulan bloodworms. It was meant as an AIDS allegory, and it would also have featured Star Trek’s first gay couple, on the sidelines.

For various reasons, the script was rejected. Gerrold later rewrote it as a book and part of his Starwolf series. He also rewrote the script for the famous, fan-made “Star Trek – Phase II” series, adapting it to the Original Series characters. If you haven’t watched the fanmovie yet, go and do so, it’s all over the Internet. It’s excellent, it’s endearing and you’ll have a happy reunion with long-missed characters and actors.

I don’t want to compete with James Crowley’s fantastically creative team; this is a story, not a movie, it’s set in the original TNG environment, and it has different point of view. I’ve been toying with the story idea for quite some time, and now that I’ve seen the movie, I’ve been inspired anew.

There are barely any original characters in this story. The supporting characters are borrowed from 2nd and 3rd season TNG episodes; most of the seemingly unknown ones are from Gerrold’s original story idea. I have never seen the original script, just short summaries, so while the idea isn’t entirely mine, the realization certainly is. Hopefully, my version will find a few readers who like it, despite the differences. Unlike the “New Generation”-series, this is not an AU, as deviations from canon are practically nonexistent.

**DRAMATIS PERSONAE**

I’ve only listed the recurring and guest characters here, as I’m working with the canon main cast. However, Dr. Crusher and weaselly Wesley are absent, as this story takes place between Seasons 1 and 2 of TNG, when Dr. Pulaski has already departed but Dr. Crusher hasn’t returned yet.

**_Enterprise_ personnel **

**Doctor Selar** (Suzie Plakson), a Vulcan, acting CMO of the _Enterprise_ in Crusher’s absence.  
 **Doctor Martin** (Rick Fitts), a human, Selar’s right-hand-man.  
 **Ensign Alyssa Ogawa** (Patti Yasutake), a human, head nurse in Sickbay.  
 **Ensign Colin Freeman** (not cast yet), medical technician.

**Chief Miles Edward O’Brien** (Colm Meaney), transporter chief  
 **Ensign Liz Clancy** (Anne Elizabeth Ramsey), a human, assistant engineer  
 **Technician Mikael Hodel** (Sendhil Ramamurthy), half-human/half-Deliwakan, an engineering technician.

**Lieutenant Bader** (Dieter Bader), a human, security officer  
 **Lieutenant Junior Grade Dan Eakins** (not cast yet), a human, security officer.  
 **Ensign Nagel** (Leslie Neale), a human, tactical officer  
 **Ensign Burke** (Glenn Morshower), a human, security officer.

**Ensign Haskell** (Charles Douglas), a human, conn officer  
 **Hennessy** (unknown, briefly appeared in “The Dauphin”), a human, only mentioned here

**Hildebrandt** (Anne H. Gillespie), specialist in volcanology and geomechanics, married to Alans, a human, only mentioned here.

**Keiko Ishikawa** (Rosalind Chao), a human, botanist, O’Brien’s love interest, here only mentioned.

**Guninan** (Whoopi Goldberg), an El-Aurian, tending the bar in Ten Forward.

**_Copernicus_ personnel **

**Captain Aria Tensus** (Linda Hunt), an officer from the First Federation, OC.  
 **Lieutenant Commander Ahrens** (Adrian Pasdar), a human, Science Officer  
 **Dr. Cosma Shiva Hagen** (herself), a Betazoid, exobiologist, OC  
 **Lieutenant Ayn-Dern Brock** (not cast yet), a Bolian, security officer, OC  
 **Ensign Taras Bulba** (not cast yet), a Bolian, security officer, OC

** Other Starfleet personnel **

**Admiral Nakamura** (Clyde Kusatsu), a human, representing Starfleet Command  
 **Commander Jenna Yarrel** (Denise Crosby), a human, representing Starfleet Intelligence, an expert on biological warfare  
 **Dr. Raye Blodgett** (Jack Coleman), a human, exobiologist.

I've cast most of the original characters because I work better with them when I have a face. I hope you'll find it useful, too.

And now on to the actual story!


	2. Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two _Enterprise_ crewmen celebrate their anniversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freeman and Eakins are the original couple from David Gerrold's story idea. I just took a deeper look into their relationship.  
> This is the only explicit part of the story. If you're not into male slash, you can skip it and start with Chapter 1 - the story can be read and fully understood without this part.

USS _Enterprise_  
Stardate: 43076.4

Colin Freeman enjoyed working aboard the _Enterprise_ very much. Not only was it the flagship of the Fleet, getting the most exciting deep space missions – well, most of the time – it was also a state-of-the-art vessel, a peak product of Federation engineering, with the newest technical achievements regularly added to her systems. Especially the holodecks were at the highest level of holographic and replicator technology. Freeman, born and raised on a space station, _loved_ the holodecks. They gave one the complete illusion of any desired place, _without_ the sometimes very real dangers of those places. It was simply _perfect_.

Today, they had chosen their favourite sylvan scenario, complete with birdsong and waterfall. They both loved having sex in the outdoors, and this scenario was the closest thing, without _real_ people stumbling over them by accident. Actually, it was even better than the real thing, which was the reason why they visited it so sparsely: to keep it special.

But today was their fourth anniversary, and Freeman _wanted >_ to make it special for Dan Eakins, the shy, reserved – and breath-takingly beautiful – Englishman with whom he had fallen in love at the moment they’d met for the first time aboard the USS _Horatio_. It had taken him almost a year to woo Dan out of his pants and into bed, but the gain was well worth the effort. And now they had every reason to celebrate. It wasn’t an easy thing for two people in a committed relationship to get assigned to the same ship, but they had been fortunate. And they had got the _Enterprise_ , of all ships – what else could a Starfleet officer wish for?

Dan was already there when Colin descended the stepping stones above the small waterfall. He was laying on a Starfleet-issue blanket, used on away missions, clad in his worn jeans and a simple white T-shirt, his short-cropped, dark hair tousled, his dark eyes smouldering with want and full of promises. Colin could still barely believe his luck.

“Up to no good?” he asked teasingly, lowering himself next to Dan who sat up to great him properly, and slid a teasing hand down Dan’s front.

“Up to whatever you’ve got on your mind,” Dan answered, leaning in for a kiss. They French-kissed after that for quite some time: brief, hungry, open-mouthed kisses, with lots of tongue involved, or _only_ the tongues, dancing and teasing and caressing each other, with the mouths not even touching at all.

It was all very exciting, but far from enough, and soon, Colin pushed Dan back onto the blanket and went in for the real, deep-tongued version, while sliding a hand under Dan’s tee and tormenting his nipples with vigorous rubbing and hard pinches. To tell the truth, Dan’s nipples were _not_ very sensitive by nature, but they could be _made_ sensitive with the right stimulation, and Colin was determined to turn his partner into one naked, hypersensitive nerve on this afternoon. This was their _anniversary_ , for God’s sake, and it needed to be celebrated properly.

“You look good enough to eat,” he said when they were forced to break the kiss due to the acute lack of air, “and I _will_ eat you today – lock, stock and barrel.”

Dan gave him a lazy smile. “Does it mean that I’ll get ravished?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” Colin stroked the his lover’s inner thigh, then slid down on Dan’s body to mouth his cock through the rough denim of his jeans, making his breath hitch. “ _I will_.”

“That may take some time,” Dan warned ruefully. It did, indeed, take a lot of time and work on his partner’s side to get him properly aroused (or, as Colin would say, ‘up to the challenge’). According to the doctors, it had to do something with performance anxiety; he’d had some very humiliating experiences with women before he’d realized that he was experimenting with the wrong gender. But once he ‘got it up’, to use another patented Freeman term, he could go on for hours. So Colin didn’t really mind all the prep work, since as a result it got him fucked within an inch of his life.

The only disadvantage was that they _really_ needed ample time to get him into high gear. Which meant that when only quickies could be arranged, Dan always had to be on the receiving end. Not that he’d really mind, though. On the contrary, he was more than willing to lie down for Colin; any time, any place, in any desired position. It freed him from the pressure to ‘deliver’ (OT Freeman again), and frankly, he enjoyed having Colin’s dick up his arse very much.

But today they had enough time, this being their day off, and after Dan had shed his jeans, Colin traced the nice bulge in his tightly stretched white briefs almost reverently, then mouthed it briefly before sliding up on the slender body to kiss Dan’s flat stomach, then sucking on a nipple hungrily, while groping him gently with his free hand. Dan actually had a nice, long cock if cajoled to life properly, and Colin was eager to do so – to see it, to touch it, to taste it…

He pushed down Dan’s briefs, just far enough to free the still half-dormant prick and the nice, full sack below. He gave the prick a few experimental upward tugs, then sucked on the head briefly, then pulled again. Dan shivered slightly, sighed and licked his lips unconsciously. His dick began to lengthen and harden under Colin’s tender ministrations, until it reached its full eight and a half inches and curved elegantly against his belly.

Colin kept licking along its length, pausing only for a moment to pick a piece of windswept grass from the slightly reddened underside, then continued his worship with licks and feather-light caresses, fingering shaft and sack gently and playfully and teasing that special spot under the flared head with the tip of his tongue. He could have gone on like that for hours, had his own desperate need to be fucked let him.

“I think you’ll do now just nicely,” he said, giving the erect prick a gentle slap, making Dan hiss. The look he got for that was positively sultry.

“Too bad,” Dan said. “I could have you playing with my dick for days. You’ve got a great way to manhandle me.”

“Later,” Colin replied, shedding his clothes frantically. “I need that beautiful prick in me, and I need it _now_! My ass feels all neglected, you know.”

“And a lovely arse it is,” Dan agreed, rising from the blanket with that boneless grace Colin always admired in him. Special Ops training at the Security Academy in Annapolis paid off. “Very well, then, get hold on that tree and spread your legs a little to have better leverage. I’ll take care of the rest.”

That sounded so… technical as if taken straight from some security manual. It was so very Dan that Colin had to laugh while he obeyed as any good little Starfleet officer would do in an emergency situation – well, he _did_ consider his own state of extreme need and arousal as an emergency, thank you very much. Medical personnel knew all about the dangers of sexual frustration, and he was a med tech first class, after all.

He stood there, stark naked, trembling with anticipation. When those long, clever fingers finally breached his already slickened hole, he nearly shot his load on the spot. It had been too long…

“Ooh,” Dan was literally purring, his posh British accent growing more prominent as always when he got excited. “Someone came well prepared, it seems.”

Colin glanced back over his bare shoulder. “You have a problem with that?”

“How could I?” Dan’s laugh was throaty and sensuous, his usually pale face beautifully flushed. “A well-prepared officer is the first half of every successful mission.”

“Then get on with the damned mission already!” Colin growled in frustration, shoving his ass backwards to impale himself on those teasing fingers.

“Patience!” Dan chided, stretching him some more. “I don’t want to hurt you; you’re not doing this so often as I do.”

“You won’t!” Colin slammed his ass backwards again. “I’m so ready that it hurts; now fuck me already!”

“With pleasure,” Dan steadied him with one hand on his shoulder; with the other hand, he directed his erect prick to Colin’s entrance. “Hold still for a moment for me?”

“Whatever you want… whenever you want,” Colin moaned and let his head fall forward with a heartfelt groan when he felt Dan’s hard dick press into him. It was a tight fit and a long way in; Dan had to work hard for every inch if he didn’t want to tear Colin’s arse – which he wanted to avoid at any costs. It took him several long moments to get his entire length inside Colin; then he stopped, stroking his partner’s arse, thighs and flanks lovingly and rubbing the small of his back to relax him even more.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked in concern.

“Full… I feel so full…” Colin moaned, barely coherent from the mixed pain and pleasure. “Give me a moment… just a moment… oh… okay, you can move now.”

“Are you sure?” Dan asked, worried. Colin felt extremely tight around him, as always, and needed time to accommodate him. “We’re in no hurry here…”

“Oh, yes, we are,” Colin panted, “and I _am_ sure, dammit! For God’s sake, Danny, _move_!”

Dan kissed him between the shoulder blades and made a few tiny, experimental thrusts, rubbing his pleasure spot in the process. Colin relaxed considerably as white-hot jolts of pleasure shot through his entire body, and began moaning without any restraint.

“Oh there, right there,” and when his lover complied, he became demanding. “Harder, Danny! I won’t break.”

“Be patient!” Dan chided, pulling out of him almost completely and then slamming back immediately. They both groaned loudly, and Dan began to fuck Colin in earnest now, fisting his partner’s hard cock with his free hand in counterpoint. Rhythm could be such a beautiful thing sometimes.

“Oh love, you feel so wonderful around me,” he panted. “So hot and slick and tight… so very good…”

“You… you feel great, too,” Colin replied with a loud moan. “Oh, you fill me so nicely, I feel as if I’d burst. Harder, lover… I want to feel it for a week, at the very least! I don’t get taken so often…”

“I’m… so sorry,” Dan said contritely, although the effect was somewhat lessened by the fact that he was pounding Colin’s ass with all his might at the same time.

“Don’t you _dare_ to apologize!” Colin growled, meeting his thrusts with equal fervour. “Just give it me good and hard. That will do the tri… Danny!” he shouted as a violent orgasm took him by surprise.

Dan let him ride it out, then pulled out of him and turned him over for a long, intense kiss… or ten. He was still erect and rock hard, but it didn’t seem to bother him.

“Let us rest for a moment,” he suggested, and Colin was all too willing to comply. They made themselves comfortable on the blanket, kissing and licking and gently biting each other’s bodies, sucking nipples and teasing cocks with lips and fingers until Colin’s trembling subsided and his prick grew hard again. Dan massaged the shaft gently and sucked on the head for a few minutes to make it even harder.

“Are you up for another round?” he asked.

“Definitely,” Colin replied, kissing his throat. “How do you want me?”

Dan stretched out on his back, his hard dick standing on proud attention. “Sit on my lap?” he asked invitingly.

“Oh yeah!” Colin absolutely loved the idea. He climbed over Dan, straddling those lean hips, then rose on his knees, waiting for his lover to line up that wonderful prick. In the next moment, he was rewarded with the blunt head nudging his slippery entrance.

“Now sit down, love,” Dan said, “and let gravity do its work.” This was an old joke between them, and Colin giggled, doing as he’d been told, lowering himself slowly, ever so slowly, letting that hot, hard column of flesh fill him inch by agonizing inch again, stretching him to his limits and rubbing his pleasure spot most excitingly. “That’s it, love,” Dan encouraged him, “take what you need.”

“Oh! Oh!” Colin moaned, riding his lover’s hard cock eagerly and vigorously. “Oh, this is so good, so very good…”

“It is, love, it is,” Dan replied, meeting him with hard upward trusts… so hard that his legs were soon trembling with the effort. He was just getting into the spirit of things when Colin came all over them again, and for a while they were just lying side by side. When Colin finally came down from his second orgasm, he saw with some trepidation that Dan was _still_ hard, his dick still curving against his belly proudly.

“I know it’s normal for you,” he commented, laving on it some loving attention, “but a stamina like this could give a lesser man serious complexes, you know.”

Dan laughed, laying hand on himself and massaging his dick until it began to leak. “I’m just a slow burner,” he said. “You know: slow start, long run. Not everybody is blessed with _your_ recuperation powers.”

“Are we getting into a competition of manliness?” Colin asked with a raised eyebrow. He was almost as good at it as a Vulcan. “Because if we are, I can think of a better use of that high-endurance tool of yours.”

“Good Lord, where do you get that terminology from?” Dan laughed. “Have flirted with an engineer lately?” Colin just shrugged, with a deliberately double-meaning grin, but Dan was not taking the bait. “I think we should wait a little before we get at it again. I’ve already worked over that pretty arse of yours so thoroughly you’re going to walk funny for days.”

Colin, working on his own dick for a change, shook his head. “Don’t worry, I can take it. I’m a big boy.”

“At the moment it’s certainly true,” Dan gave Colin’s best piece an appreciating look. “But what’s the hurry? We have all day for us…”

“… and an awful lot to catch up,” Colin replied. “I need to create memories. Good ones, and lots of them, for the times when you’re out there, on some foreign planet, without me. Y'know,” he added after a moment of thought, “it's funny.”

“ _What_ is funny?” Dan asked, although he did have an inkling.

“How much I worry about you,” Colin admitted. “Being on Security Detail and all. I'm always afraid that…” he stopped himself with visible effort. “Never mind.”

Dan shook his head. “Hey,” he said gently. “There's nothing to worry about. Really.” He leaned in for a deep-tongued kiss and added as a joke. “We don't have bull's-eyes painted on our uniforms any more.”

Colin accepted the kiss, sticking out his tongue open-mouthedly to dance with Dan’s. This was an old game between them; they called it the kiss of the snake and enjoyed playing it very much. But today not even their favourite game could distract Colin from his worries for some reason.

“Yeah, you can joke, but,” now it was his turn to shake his head. “I know the odds, Danny. I…”

“That’s quite enough,” Dan interrupted him in his best security officer manner. “I see I need to bring you to more sensible thoughts, crewman. Stand up, turn around and place your right foot on that big stone, _now_! And don’t forget to get good leverage! You’ll need it.”

“I can’t remember you outranking me,” Colin mock-protested, but he obeyed nonetheless. The position Dan had ordered him to assume offered unhindered view at his nether regions, with his cock and balls hanging low between his wide-spread thighs.

“I don’t,” Don agreed, grabbing his hips and pushing into his relaxed hole with minimal effort this time. “But I can turn you into an incoherent mass of trembling need within moments, which gives me an edge on you, don’t you think?”

As expected, Colin was already incapable of giving any articulate answer. His moans rose steadily in frequency, and that inspired Dan to even better efforts, groaning from deep within and slamming into that pretty, tight arse with renewed vigour. When Colin began to spasm around him with a high-pitched shriek of delight, it finally wrung Dan’s orgasm from him. With a great shout, so uncharacteristic for his usually reserved nature, he let go and emptied himself deep into the body of his partner.

After that, they collapsed onto the blanket, limp like wet rags, completely unable to speak, much less to move. Their heavy breathing even blanked out the murmurs of the waterfall and the birdsong for a while, both elements consciously included into the programme for romantic purposes. As usual, Colin was the first to break the sated silence; he was one of those who liked to talk after sex.

“Man, that was great,” he sighed in deep satisfaction. “You can’t imagine how much I needed it.”

“You’re a pushy bottom,” Dan smiled, stroking his chest gently.

“You didn’t seem to have any problems with my bottom just now,” Colin laughed; then he glanced at his wrist chrono and pulled a face. “We need to relocate to our quarters, though. Our holodeck reservation is about to run out in half an hour.”

“Bugger!” Dan was genuinely disappointed. “That’s hardly enough to shower… especially if we share. I guess we’ll have to strike post-coital cuddling from the menu, won’t we?”

“Not if we grab a quick shower, go home and continue with the programme,” Colin pointed out logically.

Dan stared at him in fond exasperation. “You’re kidding, right? Not even you could be up to another round already!”

“My ass perhaps, but not my dick,” Colin admitted ruefully. “You’ve wrung me dry. I’m completely dehydrated. No wonder – I’ve come three times within two hours… that’s a bit too much, even for me.”

“That’s a relief,” Dan said wryly. “Well, let’s have that shower then and go to Ten Forward for dinner, shall we?”

Colin had no objections against that plan, and so they had a quick enough shower, only moderately distracted by each other’s naked bodies within arm’s reach, left the holodeck just in time and rode the turbolift to Ten Forward. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The brand new recreation lounge was, unsurprisingly, located on deck ten at the extreme forward end of the saucer section and was designed with several large windows, which offered a spectacular view of space ahead of the vessel. Added to the ship’s facilities during the most recent refitting, it had already became very popular among the crew and served as the social centre of the ship, equipped with a number of recreational activities, tables and seating, and a bar which served several alcoholic and syntheholic beverages. Two replicator terminals behind the bar were able to produce other food and drinks.

Colin and Dan entered the lounge through the door on the port side and were led by the enigmatic hostess, a dark-skinned alien woman named Guinan, to a separate little room, which, in theory, served as the captain’s private dining room but could be booked by all crewmembers for special occasions. The table for two was already set, with candles and candlelight and soft music playing in the background… the whole nine miles aimed for a romantic evening. Dan had filed his dinner request well in advance, and as usual, Guinan could be counted on. 

Having served their dinner and wine, she returned to the bar and continued polishing the already shiny counter with a deep burgundy red rag of exactly the same hue as her flowing robe and her elaborate hat that looked as if a flying saucer had landed right on top of her head. She glanced at them for a moment, grinning conspiratorially, then returned to her somewhat unnecessary cleaning activity.

Colin was duly impressed by the effort Dan had put into celebrating their anniversary. Nobody had ever done anything even remotely likely for him, and he honestly enjoyed the attention.

“You are hopelessly romantic,” he said. “But you don’t have to woo me all over again, you know. You’ve got me already; and I’m staying.”

Dan shrugged. “This is the least I could do to thank you for putting up with me. I know I’m high maintenance…”

“Hey!” Colin interrupted angrily. “Don’t talk like that! I love you, you idiot. This has nothing to do with ‘putting up’ with you.”

“You can sweet-talk with the best of them,” Dan grinned involuntarily. Then he became serious again. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, no! A security officer who starts thinking!” Colin murmured in mock horror. “Where will the world get to if this continues?” But he dropped the joke quickly as he saw the troubled eyes of his partner. “Dan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dan replied hurriedly. “I just… perhaps I should make a Deltan sexual therapy. They say it’s very efficient, much better than the average Federation medicinal techniques.”

“Why on Earth would you want to do that?” Colin asked, completely baffled. 

Dan avoided his eyes. “You seemed so happy today. I’d like to be able to give you that more often, and with less prep work involved. I know you actually prefer to be on the receiving end, and I’m sorry I can’t…”

“Dan,” Colin interrupted,” you _are_ an idiot. No, be quiet; you really are. I love _you_ , not just your dick, can’t you understand that? Besides,” he added, “I actually like to do all that prep work. To know that _I’m_ the one who can work you up to the challenge just nicely…” he trailed off, suddenly uncertain. “Does that make me a selfish prick? Or do you think I _want_ you to stay like this, to chain you to myself? You think I’m afraid you’d leave me once you’d be able to perform with anyone at will?”

He was so upset that Dan instantly regretted having brought up the whole thing in the first place. This was _not_ how he’d planned to celebrate their anniversary.

“Now, who’s the idiot?” he murmured gently and leaned over to kiss Colin. “Don’t be so daft, I love you! I’m staying, too, no matter what. I just want you to be happy!”

“I _am_ happy, dammit!” Colin replied hotly. “I came into this relationship with my eyes wide open. I knew what it would involve. I’m a med tech, remember? If all I’d wanted was to be fucked through the mattress each night, I’d have chosen someone else.” He paused as something else occurred to him. “Or are you tired of being the bottom most of the time? Is it that? Do you feel reduced in your manliness or whatnot?”

“Of course not!” Dan said hurriedly. “I _love_ to have you in me, I really do. It’s just… seeing my dick disappear in that beautiful arse of yours is the most erotic sight I can imagine. I’d like to have that – to have _you_ – more often, that’s all.”

“You do have me, you fool,” Colin said gently. “But if this bothers you so much, I can make some inquiries about the therapy. We have shore leave coming up in two month’s time… we can give it a try if you really want to.”

“I think I would,” Dan answered thoughtfully. Then he grinned again. “Just don’t think you’d be automatically relieved from prep duty, even if they can help me. I won’t give up having those clever hands on me… or any other parts of you.”

“Well, eat up then, so that we can return home and practice some more,” Colin laughed, relieved that the evening could be still saved. “It’s a good thing that we’re on Beta shift tomorrow; we can stay up late and sleep in in the morning.”


	3. Starship Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daliwakans are an alien race. Their only representative, a Human/Daliwakan half-bred was the gigolo in Tom Paris’ Sandrine’s holoprogram. Ensign Hodel is “played” by Sendhil Ramamurthy, just for the exotic touch. Ensign Nagel’s only appearance was in the 2nd season TNG episode “Peak Performance”.

Stardate: 43076.7  
Captain Jean-Luc Picard recording

The _Enterprise_ has been ordered by Admiral Nakamura to go to the aid of the USS _Copernicus_ , a scientific research vessel, which has set out a distress signal and is now adrift with no further communication coming from its captain and crew. Our mission is to find out what had caused the break of communication and to help the _Copernicus_ with whatever repairs might be necessary.

Admiral Nakamura emphasized in his message that Starfleet Command is concerned because the Copernicus was last located in a disputed area of space between the Federation and the Ferengi Alliance. As there is no exact data about _what_ , exactly, counts as Ferengi territory, Federations ships – especially Starfleet vessels – usually avoid this particular area. It has no systems with habitable planets, so it’s of little interest for us, unless for mining purposes.

Why the _Copernicus_ was heading in this direction, the admiral couldn’t – or wouldn’t – tell me. I hope, however, that either my CMO or my Science Officer will be able to provide me with some basic data about the _Copernicus_ ’ original mission, so that we won’t be stumbling into a potentially dangerous situation with our eyes closed. Picard out.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Finished with his official log, the captain of the _Enterprise_ rose from behind his desk and fetched the half-empty bottle of calvados from his cupboard. As a rule, he didn’t drink while on duty, but sometimes the secrecy of Starfleet Headquarters frustrated him beyond endurance. As the commanding officer of Starfleet’s flagship, he expected to be given all the details he might need to get the job done.

Unfortunately, some of the more conservative members of Starfleet Command were still suffering from the delusion that the officers serving in the front line – the same ones that actually kept the Federation safe – didn’t need to be bothered with unnecessary knowledge. Admiral Nakamura, a great admirer of his people’s samurai tradition (or how he interpreted it anyway) was one of those less than practical oriented people.

Well, it couldn’t be helped. Luckily for Picard, he had an android as his Science Officer; an intelligent machine that could converse with computers on their own language and was therefore damn hard to catch when hacking any secret databases. He’d find out everything they needed to know – and then some.

Reassured that they’d be able to do the job, despite the outdated mentality of certain superior officers, Jean-Luc Picard allowed himself a _very_ small glass of calvados, removed the evidence from sight, and signalled his senior staff to come to the daily briefing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The senior officers of the _Enterprise_ were still not full in numbers. Doctor Katherine Pulaski, who had served as the chief medical officer of the ship during the recent year, had transferred back to the USS _Repulse_ , her old ship, and Doctor Beverly Crusher had not yet returned from Starfleet Medical, where she had served as the aide of the Surgeon General for a year. Therefore the medical section was currently represented by Doctor Selar, a calm, no-nonsense Vulcan, young for her own people, yet one with good contacts within Starfleet Medical and a great deal of experience. She’d already served twenty-three years on various Starfleet vessels, the last two of them aboard the _Enterprise_.

Aside from the section heads, who were regularly present at the daily meetings, this time Transporter Chief O’Brien had been asked to join, together with Tactical Officer Nagel, and, of course, Counselor Troi, as always. Commander Riker, now sporting a neatly trimmed, full beard, was sitting next to Troi, consulting the crew evaluation reports that were done by the end of the month; the two of them usually worked on those together. Recently-promoted Chief Engineer Geordi LaForge still seemed a little uncertain about his new position but tried to hide it, while Lieutenant Worf, their chief of security, stared sourly at the tabletop in front of him, as usual.

Picard greeted his officers, who had not yet heard about their new assignment, took his established place at the head of the conference table and cut to the core of the problem as was his wont.

“We have received new orders from Starfleet Command,” he told them without preamble. “The USS _Copernicus_ has sent out a distress signal two days ago. Since then, communication couldn’t be re-established, so we’ve been ordered to rendezvous with the _Copernicus_ , figure out what’s wrong and provide any help that may be needed.”

“Where was the _Copernicus_ operating at the moment of sending out the distress call?” Riker asked.

“Accessing,” Commander Data answered in Picard’s stead. His yellow eyes became unfocused, as always when he was communicating directly with the main computer. “According to the last official report, they were travelling in the Haseeth sector.”

“The Haseeth sector?” Worf repeated with a frown. “Isn’t that Ferengi territory?”

“Not exactly,” Picard corrected. “In fact, it’s disputed territory between the Federation and the Ferengi Alliance.”

“What is the _Copernicus_ doing there, then?” Troi asked. “Border patrol duty?”

Picard shook his head. “No; the _Copernicus_ is a science vessel, assigned to mapping uncharted territory and geological survey, preparing for future mining activity.”

“Could they have been attacked by the Ferengi?” Riker guessed.

Tactical Officer Nagel shook her head, long blonde hair whipping across her shoulder.

“That’s unlikely,” she replied. “The _Copernicus_ is an _Oberth_ -class ship; those are only used as science vessels by Starfleet and the non-Starfleet agencies. She wouldn’t be a match even for a small, outdated Ferengi freighter, not to mention a _Marauder_ -class ship. The Ferengi would have destroyed her with a single shot, before she could have sent that distress signal.”

“Can we be certain that the _Copernicus_ has not, in fact, been destroyed?” Worf asked.

“Long-range scanners of Selani Base within range of the Haseeth sector confirm that the ship is still there, adrift. It just won’t reply to any calls,” Picard replied.

“Why hasn’t Selani Base sent out a patrol ship to check on them, then?” Riker asked in surprise.

“That was exactly the question _I have_ asked Admiral Nakamura,” Picard said dryly, “but he refused to give any explanation. All he answered was that I’ll understand everything as soon as we’ve reached the _Copernicus_ and consulted a certain Commander Yarell who’s supposed to be on board as a Starfleet observer.”

“Commander Jenna Yarnell?” Dr. Selar raised an elegant Vulcan eyebrow. “Curious. Has he not served at Starfleet Intelligence until recently?”

“You know the commander?” Picard asked, his suspicions that there must have been more behind the _Copernicus_ ’ mission than a simple cartography assignment, going up a notch.

“I know her reputation,” Selar replied. “She graduated in the same year I did, as a science officer, specialising in biotechnology and genetics, and was promptly drafted by Starfleet Intelligence, researching Romulan biological weapons, especially the poisonous and exploding plants on the Eden planet, visited by Captain Kirk’s _Enterprise_ , back in 2269. Last time I heard about her she was still working there.”

“If she was assigned to the _Copernicus_ as an observer, and the _Copernicus_ was sent on a seemingly harmless cartography mission in disputed space, that can only mean one thing,” Picard said thoughtfully. “Starfleet Intelligence suspects the Ferengi to have developed some kind of biological weapon and wanted to find out more about it – should it truly exist.”

Selar nodded. “That is a logical assumption, Captain.”

Troi, however, shook her head. “I find it unlikely that the Ferengi would release a weapon of mass destruction. They’re businessmen, first and foremost, not warriors. They have a saying that states: _A dead customer can’t buy as much as a live one_. Killing off masses of potential customers would be against their general attitude and business politics.”

“Yeah, but they’re also known to say: _Fear makes a good business partner_ ,” Riker argued. “I don’t believe they’d commit genocide, either; not unless they’re cornered and have absolutely no other chance. But they might have developed such a weapon as a tool to blackmail potential partners – or enemies – to do their asking.”

“Or the whole thing is a bluff,” Ensign Nagel commented.

“Whatever,” Worf muttered darkly. “Ferengi have no honour.”

“ _We_ might see it that way; however, as they like to say: _Morality is always defined by those in power_ ,” Troi countered. “Besides, they wouldn’t be the first party to build a doomsday weapon, just to frighten their adversaries, without the true intention to use it… or the last one.”

“True; but historic evidence shows us that even weapons never _meant_ to be used _get_ to be used sometimes, causing terrible destruction,” Picard said. “It’s enough if there is one delusional person in the right position. We cannot leave the possible existence of such a weapon out of consideration.”

“On the other hand, it’s also possible that the _Copernicus_ is simply having some kind of medical emergency, or a system failure,” Geordi LaForge pointed out reasonably.

Picard nodded. “Also true. Which is why we need to assemble the away team with all these possibilities in our mind,” he looked at Riker. “I’ll leave it to you, Number One.”

Riker weighed the possibilities in his mind for a moment.

“I’ll take Geordi for the system analysis,” he then said. “Also for possible repairs and in case we might need his special vision. Worf would want to come with us, I assume,” the Klingon nodded grimly, “and we’ll need at least two other security officers, just in case.”

“Lieutenant Eakins and Ensign Burke are the next ones on schedule,” Worf told him. “They’re both reliable, experienced officers.”

“Good; then all we’ll need is a med-tech and another technician,” Riker said, looking at the section heads. “Suggestions?”

“I suggest Ensign Freeman,” Selar said. “He has successfully served on previous away missions and does not panic easily.”

“And I’ll take Hodel,” Geordi added. “He has excellent manual skills.”

“Make it so,” Picard agreed. He trusted his officers to know their people without him micro-managing things. “Data, what’s our ETA at the _Copernicus_ ’ last known position?”

“Approximately twenty-six hours and forty minutes, assuming we will keep our current travelling velocity of warp six point five,” the android replied promptly.

“We will,” Picard said. “Blundering into disputed territory with maximum warp would only draw unwanted attention and raise questions we aren’t quite ready to answer yet. If Starfleet Command saw fit to wait two days before ordering us to search for the Copernicus, it cannot be that urgent.”

“Or they’ve been waiting for intel and underestimated the actual urgency of the situation,” Ensign Nagel, who’d attended to Advanced Tactical Training at the Security Academy in Annapolis, commented dryly.

“Everything is possible,” Picard allowed. “But until we learn more about the situation, it’s all guesswork. Number One,” he looked at Riker, “see to it that the members of the away team are informed, so that they can do the necessary prep work in time. Dismissed.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Twenty six hours and thirty minutes later, Lieutenant Dan Eakins and Ensign Colin Freeman were the first members of the away team who arrived at the transporter room. Aside from Chief O’Brien, that is, but _that_ was a given fact. During delicate missions, the transporter chief always insisted to operate the controls personally. This one was no exception.

Eakins and Freeman made a handsome couple, O’Brien found; and an unusual one. Usually, one would expect the security officer to be big and beefy, but Eakins contradicted that old cliché by being of average height and quite slim, almost too thin. There was wiry strength in that thin body, however, and Eakins was known to be a crack shot, whose Academy records had lasted for almost a decade. Still, with his fine-boned face, tousled hair and elegant, long-fingered hands he made the impression of an artist rather than a member of the military force.

Freeman, on the other hand, was several inches taller and broadly built, with a full, almost pudgy face and short-cropped hair that made him look like an overgrown teenager. Anyway, the two of them seemed to complement each other very well. There had to be _some_ truth to the old saying about opposites attracting each other.

They were also obviously and sappily in love with each other, which O’Brien, an old-fashioned romantic at heart, found very cute. 

According to the rumour mill, they’d even had a romantic dinner at Ten Forward to celebrate their anniversary, which was a serious thing for two guys to do, even in a committed relationship. O’Brien briefly wondered if he should arrange something similar for Keiko. Perhaps a romantic dinner would be the right scene for a marriage proposal.

Which made him wonder whether Freeman or Eakins had actually proposed last night, and what the answer might have been.

The arrival of Ensign Hodel distracted him from his hypothetical family planning. A gifted engineer in his mid-thirties, Hodel – which was the Anglicized version of his actual name – was the son of a Hindu mother and a Daliwakan father: a good head taller than O’Brien; slender, dark-skinned and almost devastatingly handsome, with wavy, ink-black hair that he wore just a bit longer than regulations would strictly allow. Fortunately for him, Geordi LaForge didn’t care about such minor transgressions as long as people did their jobs well.

Hodel also had a row of delicate ridges down the centre of his forehead, and pronounced skin above the eyebrows, but a lot less prominent than by full-blooded Daliwakans, which only enhanced his good looks. Small wonder that he already had two spouses back on his home planet, and – according to Daliwakan custom – he was entitled to have three more.

He was also a good friend of Eakins, whom he now greeted with an affectionate pat on the shoulders, ignoring Freeman’s slightly jealous glare.

“Hey Dan, we’ve missed you at the Parrises Squares match yesterday,” he said accusingly. “We had to ask Hennessey to stand in as the fourth player, and were beaten into the ground by Hildebrandt’s team. It’s not nice to abandon your team-mates at such a vital match. We might have lost any chances to become ship’s companions with this loss.”

“Sorry,” Eakins replied, not sounding sorry at all, “but it doesn’t happen every week that we’d have the day off at the same time.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Hodel laughed. “You’ve been together for how long? Two years? Three?”

“Since the Academy, almost,” Eakins corrected. “We’ve been assigned to the _Horatio_ together, right after graduating.”

“It was out fourth anniversary,” Freeman added with a tight smile. “We had some serious celebrating to do.”

“I’ve heard about it,” Hodel grinned. “Holodeck reservation, romantic dinner… you've walked the whole nine miles, haven’t you? My, but you guys are seriously besotted.”

“And you’re a busybody who cannot keep his nose out of other people’s lives,” Eakins retorted but without real heat. One couldn’t blame Hodel for being nosy like a mongoose. It was a Daliwakan thing – those guys simply didn’t know the meaning of _privacy_. “So, you’re coming with us on this trip?”

“Oh yeah!” Hodel beamed at them. He had been recently assigned to the _Enterprise_ and this was his first away mission with his new crew, so he was understandably excited. “I can’t wait to be on our way. I’ve never been aboard an _Oberth_ -class vessel before. Hell, I’ve never even _seen_ one, except in holosimulations.”

“They are interesting little vessels,” O’Brien said, putting the image of the external sensors on the viewscreen behind his console. “A bit crammed perhaps, but very functional. I’ve served on one right after graduating… it was quite a challenge, but I loved it.”

The other three watched the image on the screen with interest. The _Oberth_ -class ship was definitely of a strange structure, with two separate hulls connected by the nacelle pylons. Many of the standard features found on other Starfleet vessels weren't present. The nacelles seemingly lacked the normal Bussard collectors and blue warp field grill. The navigation deflector array was apparently missing, too. There might have been impulse engines, but they weren't obvious. One had to wonder how the ship managed to travel through space to begin with.

“That’s… unusual,” Hodel commented softly; as an engineer, he must have found the ship even stranger than the other two. O’Brien nodded.

“Yep; a fairly old design. This ship class came into service in the early 23rd century and has been refitted and modernized several times since then. It’s said that all _Oberth_ -class ships will be retired as soon as the new _Nova_ -class can replace them as planetary science vessels.”

“Can you tell me anything about the inner structure?” Hodel asked.

“Sure,” O’Brien said. “It’s a very simple layout, actually. The upper section contains the living quarters, bridge and science labs. The bottom section contains the warp core and engineering. There's a turbolift shaft that runs through the pylons or the crew has the choice to beam to each section. The ship itself only requires a small crew to operate it.”

“How many crewmembers are we talking about?” Freeman asked, mentally checking the contents of his emergency medkit.

“ _Oberth_ -class vessels generally have a crew of eighty,” O’Brien told him.

“Eighty people on such a small ship?” Hodel stared at the viewscreen, completely baffled. “How do they fit in, and that with the required equipment, too?”

O’Brien shrugged. “As I said, it is a little crammed. By a length of a hundred and fifty metres, there are only two decks within the saucer section, the upper one mostly occupied by the bridge itself. But we’ve managed just fine. One learns to live at close quarters if one has to.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the away team, lead by Commander Riker. Worf and Ensigns Nagel and Burke were armed with Type II phaser rifles, one of which Nagel handed to Eakins wordlessly but with a disapproving frown. The others were given Type II personal phasers. Additionally, Geordi, Nagel and Eakins had standard tricorders and Burke carried a small hand-held sensor, just in case.

Captain Picard had chosen to see of the Away team personally, with Doctor Selar and Data accompanying him. The doctor was looking as emotionless as only a _very_ concerned Vulcan could be, and Data was, well, himself.

“Do you wish you could come with us, Doc?” Riker grinned at Selar.

“Wishing for things that cannot be accomplished is irrelevant and not logical,” the Vulcan replied coldly. “While I would indeed prefer to examine the situation directly, my current assignment as the acting chief medical officer of the _Enterprise_ does not allow me to leave the ship, unless a medical emergency makes my presence absolutely necessary.”

“Let’s hope that will _not_ happen,” Picard said soberly. “You can monitor the away team’s progress from the bridge, Doctor.”

“I intend to do so, Captain,” Selar assured him. “We cannot rule out the possibility of an epidemic outbreak aboard the _Copernicus_ , in which case I shall need to have a medical evacuation team ready to beam over.”

“Good,” Picard turned to O’Brien. “Chief, find our away team a safe place to land aboard that ship.”

“Aye, Captain,” O’Brien took a minute to scan the other ship thoroughly; then he frowned. “Strange…”

“What?” Riker asked.

“”I can’t find any lifesigns,” O’Brien replied, “but the sensors are picking up a repulsor field, located at the centre of the _Copernicus_ ’ cargo bay.”

“A repulsor field?” Data repeated. “Interesting. It would mean…”

“… that the crew of the _Copernicus_ is trying to isolate something,” Picard finished for him grimly.

Data nodded. “Correct, sir. The question is: what are they trying to isolate and why?”

“And why aren’t there any lifesigns?” Riker added in concern.

“Actually, there are,” O’Brien corrected his precious statement, while running another scan on the other ship. “Just not human ones. In fact, I can’t exactly determine _what_ kind of lifesigns they are. They’re weak and diffuse, but the computer’s unable to recognize them.”

“Not Ferengi, though?” Picard asked.

O’Brien shook his head. “Not unless they’re using a scattering field strong enough to fool the _Enterprise_ ’s short-range sensors, which is virtually impossible. No know race has a technology that would be highly enough developed for _that_.”

“None that _we_ ’d know of,” Geordi corrected. “But basically, you’re right. We won’t learn anything conclusive, unless we beam over and take a closer look, I’m afraid.”

“Agreed,” Picard said. “The sooner we do it, the sooner we can leave this place. You1ve got permission to disembark, Number One; just be very careful.”

“Of course, Captain,” Riker promised; then he looked at the members of the away team. “Get ready, people! We’re going over.”

The others took their places on the transporter platform, excited and nervous at the same time – with the notable exception of Worf, who simply looked sour as always.

“Energize,” Riker said.

O’Brien touched the controls and the seven people turned into sparkling columns of energy and vanished.

“Transfer complete,” O’Brien reported to Picard. “They’ve rematerialized aboard the _Copernicus_ without problems.”

The captain nodded. “Thank you, Chief. Keep a constant lock of them, just in case they might need an emergency beam-out. Doctor, Commander,” he turned to Selar and Data,” return to the bridge with me. I need you to run an in-depth search about the _Copernicus_ , her crew, her previous missions… _and_ about that Starfleet observer they’ve got with them on board. Something is very wrong over there, and I’d like to know what it is before my people walk into a deadly trap.”

“Aye, sir,” the two officers replied in unison and followed him out of the transporter room.

Left to his own devices, Miles Edward O’Brien turned his attention back to his console, starting a clever little subroutine he’d created with the help of LaForge that would keep a constant transporter lock on the people aboard the other ship. Just like Captain Picard, he had a very bad feeling about the whole mission, and he was not taking any chances when it came to the survival of his crewmates.


	4. Lethal Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technical data of the _Oberth_ -class vessel are borrowed from the Ex Astris Scientia website. If I’ve misinterpreted anything, it’s not the fault of that excellent site. I’ve made the _Copernicus_ an _Oberth_ -class ship because it was said to be a science vessel. Feel free to disagree with me. The rest of the technobabble is from the “Next Generation Technical Manual” and from Internet research about wavicles – I humbly admit that I don’t understand most of what Data and Selar are pontificating about. But it does sound very scientific. *g*
> 
> The description of the original form of Regulan bloodworms is from “The Worlds of the Federation” by Franz Joseph.
> 
> Lieutenant Commander Ahrens is “played” by Adrian Pasdar, just to give him a face. Ensign Burke is a minor canon character, played by Glenn Morshower.

The away team materialized in a darkened corridor of the other starship. As O’Brien had mentioned several times, the corridors _were_ crammed, but that wasn’t really surprising by a small saucer section of 39m diameter for the lower deck and 32m for the upper deck, respectively. As the same small saucer included the standard-sized bridge, a computer core, quarters for eighty crew members, three cargo bays and, of course, several science labs as it could be expected on a dedicated science ship, it was small wonder that the corridors offered barely enough room for two people to walk side-by-side.

They were also fairly cold and the air had a somewhat muffed quality.

“Are the environmental systems still working?” Riker asked, while Geordi, Nagel and Eakins switched on their tricorders, set on recording modus.

Freeman used his medical tricorder to check the environmental data and nodded.

“Oxygen level is low but still breathable,” he replied. “We should keep our breathing masks at hand, though. There is no guarantee that it will stay that way.”

They were all wearing the environmental collars, which, combined with the breathing masks, could serve both as oxygen supply and biofilter. It wasn’t as safe as wearing a hazmat suit, or a complete EVA suit, but it protected them from airborne viruses and bacteria, _without_ slowing them down, which was a definite plus in a situation where seconds could make a difference between life and death.

“Ship’s monitoring systems must be down, though,” LaForge added, “Since we can’t hear anything from within. Absolutely nothing.”

“Well, we won’t hear a thing if the whole crew is dead,” Ensign Burke pointed out pessimistically. He was a lanky, big-boned guy with a long neck and thin, straw-blond hair on his round head, and with a depressing tendency of always expecting the worst.

Of course, that same attitude had kept him alive for sixteen years of duty in the security section, which was no small feat. Overconfident security officers tended to die young.

“They _can’t_ be all dead,” Riker said. “O’Brien’s found some sort of life signs, remember? They were weak, but they were there. _Somebody_ must be still alive on this ship, and we’re gonna find them. We’re going to the bridge. Geordi, are you familiar with the inner layout of _Oberth_ -class vessels? Geordi?”

But LaForge wasn’t listening to him. Perhaps hadn’t even heard him. He was staring at something right before him, floating mid-air: a strange flickering of pink and gold sparkles, so faint it seemed almost subliminal… and after a moment, it was gone already.

“Whoa!” Ensign Nagel commented softly. “What the hell was _that_?”

Coming out of his near-trance, LaForge turned to her in surprise. “You’ve seen it too?”

Nagel nodded. “Yeah; it seemed like those sparkly things my Grandma liked to hang onto the Christmas tree when I was a child. Ours had holographic sparkles, of course, for safety reasons, but Grams said that a century or two ago, there were so-called wonder-candles that really sparkled fire…” she trailed off, realizing that she was telling insignificant stuff that was in no way related to their current mission. 

“Sorry, Lieutenant. Why did you ask whether I’d seen it, too?” she then asked.

LaForge shrugged. “It was so brief I thought my VISOR might be malfunctioning. It’s always a possibility, but if you saw it, too…”

“Here it is again,” Riker interrupted, catching a glimpse of the flicker. “What do you make of this?”

“Seems like some kind of wavicle,” LaForge replied distractedly.

“Some kind of _what_?” Worf demanded.

“Wavicles,” LaForge repeated. “Phenomenon that demonstrates the characteristics of both wave and particle. It is both a wave and a particle together with their respective intrinsic properties of wavelength, frequency, linear and angular momentum… as we can see,” he added, as the flickers appeared again, considerably more than before. They moved in, gathered around him in a spiralling swirl of light… and then seemed to be absorbed by his skin.

LaForge giggled. “It tickles in my whole body,” he explained at Riker’s bewildered look. Then the tickling sensation vanished, too.

“What did you read?” Riker asked Freeman, who’d been utilizing his medical tricorder.

The med tech shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Commander. I simply can’t explain what we’ve just seen. These… _wavicles_ ,” he tried the foreing-sounding expression, “seem to be in constant flux. My tricorder readings are all confused.”

“Is there any way to clear up the readings?” Riker asked.

“Perhaps if we had a magnetic deconstructor – which we haven’t – we might be able to isolate their transactions,” LaForge replied with a shrug. “But so… nah, we don’t have a chance. Perhaps Data will dig into the problem after the mission, when he has the time.”

“All right,” Riker said, slightly disappointed; he didn’t like to leave a problem unsolved. “Ensign Freeman, check Lieutenant LaForge’s vitals, just to be on the safe side. I want to know if these… these _wavicles_ have harmed him in any way.”

Freeman did as he was told, then shook his head. “The readings are similar to Lieutenant LaForge’s latest physical resulsts. There aren’t any changes to his medical condition.”

“Not _yet_ ,” Worf commented darkly.

LaForge withstood the urge to roll his eyes; it would have been a moot point behind the VISOR anyway. “Geez, Worf, try to depress a guy, won’t you?”

The Klingon just shrugged fatalistically.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Picard, Data and Selar had been watched the scene on the main viewer of the bridge, via tricorder feed.

“What do you think about these wavicles, Mr Data?” the captain asked.

“Well, sir, Lieutenant LaForge’s explanation about the nature of the wavicles was basically correct,” the android began to warm up to the topic. “However, theoretically a wavicle has intrinsic double spins. Both spins can singularly be described by a conserved mass independent local infinitesimal angular acceleration such that the scalar inner dot product of this acceleration and the local infinitesimal metric is a constant the square of light speed in vacuum. If now a unit of inertial mass is defined then, as inertial mass dependence description…”

“Data… Data,” Picard raised his hand before the android could have launched a really long explanation. “I wasn’t asking for the analysis of a scientific theorem. What I want to know is: can those wavicles be the source of the diffuse lifesigns Chief O’Brien was reading shortly before the away team beamed over to the _Copernicus_?”

“Insufficient data, Captain,” the android replied promptly. “It seems highly unlikely, however. A wavicle has no physical volume or surface area.”

“True, but incomplete,” Selar corrected, displaying the sometimes frustrating Vulcan ability of being well-versed in scientific areas fairly different from one’s own. “As we all know, each wavicle is composed of two intrinsic local infinitesimal orthogonal primary forces. If one of these primary forces becomes a secondary force, then they become attractive and a wavicle then starts acquiring surface area. This dynamic surface could then be used to define approximately a physical volume.”

“Not _all_ of us know that,” Picard commented dryly. “Some of us haven’t taken advanced Quantum Mechanic classes beyond the basics.”

“Neither have I, Captain,” the Vulcan replied. “Wavicle theory is actually part of the basic classes nowadays. Of course, as you are not a science officer, it might seem complicated to you, but in actuality, it is quite simple. One of the most important conceptions of matter and energy to come out of the twenty-first century, besides the fact that they are interchangeable states of the same thing, was the fact that either state can act as either a particle or a wave. This was a very perplexing problem, and still remains so if we try to visualize what matter/energy looks like at the elementary level. A particle is localized in space-time – it can be assigned very distinct coordinates, and even thought of as stationary and static. A wave is not localized and cannot be static.”

“The wave-particle duality is one of the best examples of the complementarity principle in quantum theory,” Data added helpfully. “An electron, for example, will either act like a particle or a wave, but never both at the same time. If we use a particle detector to see the electron, it will be a particle, and if we use a wave detector, it will be a wave. Somehow, we must think of the electron as being _both_ , but in its ability to display both modes of mutually exclusive states of being, it is actually _neither_. The essence of what the electron really is must be something else entirely. Whatever that is, is quite impossible to visualize, and has been dubbed a wavicle.”

“Thank you, Mr. Data,” Picard tried to stop the scientific onslaught again; he’d lost track right after Selar’s first contribution. “Now, answer me a simple question: Is it possible for any living organisms to exist in the form of wavicles?”

“Theoretically, _everything_ is possible,” Data replied. “The universe is endless, therefore life _can_ manifest in infinite combinations. At the moment, however, I cannot remember having ever read about such life forms; although I have to admit that in-depth research into energy-based organisms has never been part of my personal studies.”

Picard turned to Selar. “What about you, Doctor? You seem to be very familiar with this particular discipline.”

“I do have a suspicion,” the Vulcan admitted. “A rather unlikely one, but it is a possibility. I need to cross-reference the medical and exobiology database with wavicle theory, though, before I would sound the alarm.”

“Is it that bad?” Picard asked in concern.

Selar nodded. “Worse,” she answered simply.

“I see,” Picard suppressed a heavy sigh. “Very well, Doctor; do your research. Data, I want you to find out everything you can about the current mission of the _Copernicus_ and about this Commander Yarell. Don’t let security protocols block your way to the necessary information.”

The android blinked in simulated confusion. “Are you authorizing me to break into confidential Starfleet databases, sir?”

Picard suppressed another sigh. Dealing with a literal-minded Vulcan _and_ with an android who was worse than an entire _planet_ of literal-minded Vulcans at the same time was sometimes more than he felt up to.

“I cannot authorize you to do that, Data,” he answered patiently. “I don’t have that kind of security clearance, and you know that. I’m asking you to sneak around the security protocols of Starfleet Intelligence and find me out what the hell Yarell is doing aboard the _Copernicus_. We need to know what we’re dealing with, or the away team might find themselves in lethal danger. But yes, if that’s what you’re concerned about, I _am_ taking full responsibility for your actions. Now, will you kindly find me _something_?”

Data blinked again, sarcasm being without affect on him as always. Then he nodded and turned back to his console to do as he’d been asked.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Meanwhile, aboard the _Copernicus_ the away team was heading towards the bridge. As O’Brien had told them, it occupied the upper deck of the saucer section. As they had originally arrived at a corridor in the crew’s quarters, in theory they wouldn’t have a long way to go. Unfortunately, after they’d managed to get to the upper deck, they found that their passage in the corridor was blocked up by a set of heavy snap doors, not unlike those of the _Enterprise_ ’s holodecks, which stubbornly refused to open.

“We can forget about these doors,” LaForge noted, after having checked them out with his tricorder. “They’ve been permanently sealed; welded shut, in fact.”

“We can always cut through them with the phaser rifles,” Worf, who had already had enough, suggested.

LaForge shook his head. “Not these. They’re made of pure, collapsed duranium steel; emergency hatches, remember? Not even Type III phaser rifles can cut them open. They’re supposed to protect parts of the ship in case of a hull breach.”

“Besides,” Ensign Nagel added, “whoever welded them sealed, must have had a very good reason for it.”

“Perhaps,” Eakins said. “But what are we gonna do now? We need to reach the bridge; if for no other reason then to shut the distress call off before the Ferengi pick it up and decide to investigate.”

“Agreed,” Riker said. “And since we obviously can’t use the doors, we’ll need another way in.”

“What about the turbolifts?” Freeman asked.

“I won’t suggest that,” Hodell shook his head, consulting the ship’s deck plans that had been uploaded to his PADD. “The turbolifts are running through the pylons. The car departs vertically in the upper hull and arrives horizontally in the lower hull, and it has to be turned by ninety degrees again upon arrival. Since no lift car is currently on this level, we can’t tell which route they would follow, even if we managed to reach one; and what kind of damage the ship has suffered along those routes.”

“Unfortunately, that’s right,” LaForge said. “Which means that there’s only one way to get to the bridge without losing time and wandering around the ship, looking for easier access.”

Burke and Eakins exchanged martyred looks. “The Jefferies tubes?” they asked in unison and groaned as one man.

LaForge nodded. “The Jefferies tubes indeed,” he replied. “An engineer’s last refuge when everything else fails.”

“Hey, what are you whining about, guys?” Hodell teased the security officers. “It’s not so bad, really. We from Engineering do it all the time. It keeps us limber and athletic.”

“I knew there was a reason why I never wanted to become an engineer,” Eakins commented dryly.

They grinned; then Riker touched his comm badge. “Riker to _Enterprise_ ,” he reported in. “We’ve tried to get to the bridge, but the doors are permanently sealed. “We’ll try to get manual access now.”

“Data here,” the voice of the android answered. “Be careful, Commander. I am picking up extremely weak readings of life throughout the ship, but I am unable to locate all of them; or to identify them.”

“Are any of them currently on the bridge?” Riker asked.

“Not at the moment,” Data answered, “but it seems that they are heading to the bridge as well.”

“We’ll have to gain access first, then,” Riker said. “We need to find the ship’s logs to figure out what’s happened here.”

For a moment, there was no answer; Data was apparently consulting with the captain.

“Acknowledged,” he finally said. “I shall keep an eye on the lifesign readings for you and alert you when there are any changes. Just be very careful. Data out.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The move through the Jefferies tubes onto the bridge was a long and arduous one. The _Copernicus_ being a small and crammed ship, the access tubes were accordingly narrow, and especially Riker and Work, but even Freeman had a hard time pushing their broad frames through in certain places. Eakins had it relatively easy, and so did Nagel, both of whom where thin and limber.

“Next time,” Freeman panted, “I’ll just wait outside till you guys open the doors from within.”

“Not an option here, I’m afraid,” Hodell grunted ahead of him. While long and slim, the half-Daliwakan had relatively broad shoulders that made for him getting forward in the narrow tube difficult.

“Almost there,” LaForge told them encouragingly. The chief engineer was wiggling forward on his belly with a skill that spoke of long experience – he was the chief engineer of a starship, after all, used to crawl around in crammed spaces.

LaForge reached the end of the Jefferies tube first and gave the panel sealing it off an experimental push. It didn’t move. The chief engineer said something in a lower Romulan dialect that made Worf raise his eyebrows in surprise – but again, LaForge had spent his childhood on a remote outpost at the Romulan Neutral Zone, so he’d had ample opportunity to pick up swear words – and tried to override the controls manually. After several attempts, he finally succeeded and dropped out onto the bridge unceremoniously, like a piece of overripe fruit.

A moment later he was screaming in horror – a strangely high-pitched sound from a grown man.

Eakins wriggled his way to the opening hurriedly and made a turn in it, so that he’d land on his feet when dropping out. For a moment, everything was eerily silent; then the ones still in the access tube could hear Eakins’ deliberately calm, measured voice.

“Calm down, Lieutenant. He’s dead. There’s nothing we can do for him.”

The others did their best to clear the tube as quickly as they could without injuring themselves, and soon they were surrounding the mummified body of a _Copernicus_ officer, half-lying in the command chair. He was wearing a burgundy uniform and the rank insignia of a full commander.

“Presumably the executive officer of the _Copernicus_ ,” Riker guessed. “He must have been the one who sent out the distress call,” he looked at Freeman. “Can you tell me what killed him?”

Freeman stepped closer, his medical tricorder in diagnostic mode, and scanned the body.

“He’s been dead for approximately three days,” he said with a frown. “Must have been killed right after sending out the distress call. But as to _what_ killed him… oh God…”he trailed off, staring at the small display screen of the tricorder in visible shock.

“What is it?” Riker asked, seeing that the med tech was deathly pale and shaking.

Freeman looked up at him with a troubled expression on his face. “Sir… there’s no blood left in this poor man’s body… not a single drop.”

“Perhaps he fell victim to a space vampire,” Hodell tried to ease the tension with a lame joke, but his face was ash grey with shock, too.

Riker was _not_ amused but decided not to chastise him for the tasteless joke, as he was clearly just trying to overcome his fear. Eakins, on the other hand, shook his head in disgust.

“You’re an incurable smartass, Mikael,” he said.

“Spread out,” Riker ordered them. “Check out all stations, see if we find any hints what’s happened here. Geordi, try to download the _Copernicus_ ’ logs to our tricorders and transfer them to the _Enterprise_. We need _facts_ , people, and we need them now.”

Hodell was already moving towards the engineering station… only to find the consoles blackened and burned out.

“Commander,” he reported, “this station has been destroyed by phaser fire. Thoroughly. We won’t get anything from here.”

“Tactical is the same,” Eakins called down from the section behind the command chair. “And it seems the communication system is dead, too… completely burned out.”

“Try the library computer,” Riker told him. “Worf check out the weapon systems. _Something_ must have survived the destruction. Federation technology is nothing if not redundant.”

“Give me a hand,” Eakins said to Hodell, and the two of them moved on to the science station to try finding access to the library computer. LaForge took over the engineering station to see if he could save anything there.

Riker’s comm badge chose this moment to start beeping. It was Data from aboard the _Enterprise_.

“Commander,” the android reported, “I must warn you that the previously detected life form is heading directly for the bridge.”

“Have you figured out what it is?” Riker asked.

“Negative, sir,” the android replied. “However, Doctor Selar is currently checking out a possibility that seems to concern her.”

“ _Concern_ her? A _Vulcan_?” Riker didn’t like the sound of _that_. “Did she say anything conclusive?”

“No, sir. She said she needed to confirm her suspicion first. But she did seem quite certain about her theory.”

“Vulcans usually are,” Riker commented. “And they usually don’t tell you anything until they’re two hundred per cent sure about their suspicions. All right, Data, thank you. We’ll contact you as soon as we’ve figured out anything on our end of the line. Riker out.”

He broke the connection and whirled around when, seconds later, he heard the turbolift doors swish open next to the engineering station, phaser at the ready. The security team followed suit, ready to shoot at anything that as much as looked at them in a bad way. But the opening doors released just a single man onto the bridge: a very haggard-looking, obviously sick man, whose eyes seemed unnaturally large in his hollow, angular face, strands of matted black hair hanging limply over his brow. He was wearing a blue science uniform and the rank insignia of a lieutenant commander.

“Please,” he begged, his voice hoarse and pain-filled, as if he hadn’t used it for quite some time. “Please, kill me….”

Everyone instinctively took a step back – everyone but Freeman, that is, who carefully approached the man tricorder outstretched.

“Try to calm down, sir,” he said in his best bedside manner. “We’ve come to help you. Who are you and what’s your name?”

“Ahrens,” the man muttered. “I am… _was_ the science officer here. But you can’t help me… nobody can. It’s too late… too late for us all… We’re dead already… everyone’s dead… and you’re next.”

His voice was rising steadily as he spoke, almost to a hysterical scream. Moving as calmly and unobstrusely as he could, Freeman removed a hypospray from his med-kit and injected the man with a tranquilizer. Ahrens collapsed to the deck, seemingly in shock and didn’t move any longer.

“What did you give him?” Riker demanded.

“Just a simply sedative,” Freeman replied defensively. “Nothing we wouldn’t administer to human patients all the time. I don’t understand… it isn’t even a strong one. It shouldn’t have such a strong effect.”

“The man was obviously at death’s door already,” Eakins tried to reassure him. “It wasn’t your fault, Colin.”

“Easy for you to say,” Freeman muttered. “I’m supposed to _help_ these people, not to kill them, out of sheer stupidity.”

“He’s not dead,” Worf interrupted. “I can still hear his heartbeat… it’s unusually fast for an unconscious man. Something is not right here.”

“We’ll know more when we had this man beamed to sickbay,” Riker said, touching his comm badge. “Riker to _Enterprise_. Data, we’ve solved the mystery of the life form readings: it was a very sick, very weak crewman who needs medical help.”

“I do not think so, Commander,” the android countered. “In fact, the life forms are still moving towards the bridge.”

“What?” Riker cried in disbelief.

At the same moment, the _Copernicus_ officer suddenly woke up with a desperate, pain-filled scream and clambered to his feet, reaching out to them pleadingly.

“Please, kill me,” he begged. “Kill me quickly, spare me the torture…”

He collapsed to the deck again, a red stain spreading quickly across his chest. Geordi instinctively moved towards him to support him, but the man suddenly grabbed his phaser and turned it against himself.

“No, don’t!” Freeman cried.

But Ahrens had already unleashed a lethal blast at himself, disintegrating his body and leaving in the aftermath a cloud of gold and pink wavicles, similar to the ones they’d seen earlier. The wavicles spread out quickly, moved around the away team members in a spectacular swirl of light and got absorbed by their bodies, causing a tingling sensation that, however, was gone within seconds again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Picard and the rest of the senior staff had been watching the events on the main viewer of the conference room. They were every bit as shocked by what they’d witnessed as the away team itself.

“Opinions?” the captain asked.

Data was the first to offer his opinion. “It seems quite obvious that the entire ship – including our away team – is infected with whatever killed the _Copernicus_ crew,” he said. “Consequently, we cannot afford to beam our people back to the _Enterprise_ ; not until we know _what_ they have been infected with and how to counteract the effects.”

“Can’t we use the transporter’s biofilter?” Troi suggested.

O’Brien shook his head. “Afraid not. The biofilter can contain the particle form, but not the wave form. That won’t be enough against wavicles, which are, essentially, both. They’d slip right through. I’m sorry, but there’s simply no way to beam them back. Not without endangering _our_ ship and the entire crew as well.”

“What about setting up a repulsor field of our own, perhaps in one of the holodecks?” Ensign Clancy, who was representing Engineering in LaForge’s absence, asked.

Dr. Martin, attending to the meeting in Selar’s stead, shook his head. “That would be a temporary solution only. We can’t be certain if a repulsor field could contain the wavicles at all; or for how long.”

“It must have _some_ effect,” Douglas Haskell, the Enterprise’s chief conn officer said. “The _Copernicus_ crew wouldn’t have established one in their cargo bay without a reason.”

“We don’t know _what_ the reason was, or if it worked at all,” Picard pointed out. “They might have tried to keep something from breaking out.”

“Whatever the reason might be, the survivors who’ve isolated themselves within the repulsor field in the cargo bay may have the answers we need,” Clancy said.

“ _If_ there are any survivors at all,” Lieutenant Bader from security emphasized.

“Even if they’re all dead, their bodies may provide some answers,” Picard raised his voice a little for the communications system to catch it. “Number One, have you copied everything?”

“Aye, Captain,” Riker’s voice answered through the loudspeakers. “Actually, that was the possibility we were going to investigate next. Can you arrange for us to be beamed inside the repulsor field, as soon as we’re done on the bridge?”

“I’ll have Chief O’Brien working on it,” Picard promised. “Report in immediately, should you find anything of true significance. Picard out.”

He broke the connection and was about to dismiss the staff meeting when the conference room doors opened and Dr. Selar came in carrying a PADD. She didn’t look any differently than always – calm, collected, alert – and yet Picard could literally feel the tension roll off of her in waves.

“Captain,” she announced, “I need to speak with you. In _private_ … although he input of Commander Data and Counselor Troi may prove helpful.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Concerned by the unusual intensity of the Vulcan, Picard dismissed the meeting and took the two officers whose presence had been requested to his ready room. As soon as the doors closed behind them, Selar handed the PADD to Data. The android checked the data on it and a very human frown appeared on his usually impassive face. He was getting better at mimicking human expressions each passing day.

“I see,” he turned to Picard. “Captain, it seems we have found the root of the problem. The _Copernicus_ has apparently been contaminated by plasmasites.”

“Plasmasites?” the term sounded vaguely familiar, but at the moment Picard couldn’t quite put his finger on the actual meaning of it.

“Also known as Regulan bloodworms,” Data added helpfully.

“Impossible,” Picard shook his head. “The only known case of plasmasite infection took place on a world within the Regulus system, and that had been quarantined for the past century and a half. How in hell could this have happened?”

“There is only one logical explanation, Captain,” Selar stated with eerie Vulcan calmness. “The _Copernicus_ must have violated the quarantine.”

“Not necessarily,” Picard argued. “Some Klingons are known to drink bloodworms in their bloodwine; the acid in the wine, combined with their peculiar body chemistry renders the worms harmless. Perhaps the beasts broke out through a careless Klingon trader.”

Selar shook her head. “No, Captain. The Regulan bloodworm in its natural state is a soft, shapeless organism of maximally five centimetres long, with its internal organs and circulatory system visible through its milky, transparent skin. Of parasitic nature, they attach themselves to their hosts by the use of four mouths, located at the end of tentacle-like appendages. They live in damp, shady areas; their spores would never survive in the relatively dry, artificial environment of a starship. Neither were the bloodworms infesting Regulus VI anything like the ordinary species. According to reports from the early twenty-third century, they were a least ten centimetres of length, dark read and extremely aggressive. It is a logical assumption that someone at that time must have done some genetic resequencing with a group of worms, crating a new, different subspecies.”

“The Klingons would come to one’s mind,” Picard said slowly, “since they’re immune against the bloodworms; and they were at war with the Federation at the time Regulus VI was put under quarantine.”

“We shouldn’t forget the Ferengi, either,” Troi warned, “since we don’t know what they were doing during that time. They weren’t always a strictly business-based society, and their great upheaval, the one that led to the current form of government, is said to have happened approximately a hundred and sixty years ago.”

“Whoever might have created the worms, that is not our primary concern right now,” Picard said. “We have to find a way to get our people off the _Copernicus_ , and soon.”

“I am afraid we cannot do that,” Data pointed out. “Starfleet regulations prohibit even attempted rescue of potential victims, according to General Order 9. Such situations require a Code 9 directive to deal with.”

“What is a Code 9 directive?” Troi asked.

“Code 9 is a standing Starfleet order that when you run into a ship that’s infected with plasmasites, you must destroy that ship immediately,” Data explained. “In fact, it is the merciful thing to do, as being killed by plasmasites is a horrendous and very painful way to die.”

“The last three ships that tried to save an infected population, back in the twenty-third century, were also infected, and the crew died horribly,” Picard added grimly.

"Does this mean that we’ll have to destroy the _Copernicus_ , with our own people on board?” Troi asked in shock.

“If they are already infected, which we must assume at least in Lieutenant LaForge’s case, then they are beyond help already,” Selar replied in a detached, clinical manner. “We do not know how long the lifecycle of the plasmasites is. We do know, however, _how_ it works. The spores – the wavicles – enter the body of the victim. Then they grow in his or her blood, until they reach a certain point of development, at which they – like malaria – explode and begin to look for new hosts.”

Troi shuddered in disgust. “Sounds painful… and messy.”

“That it is,” Selar agreed. “But the worst part is: there is no known cure for this condition, as it never left any survivors.”

There was a long, pregnant pause in the ready room, all four of them considering the ramifications.

“I cannot accept that,” Picard finally said. “There _must_ be a solution that we can reach.”

“If there is one, I am not familiar with it,” Selar replied. “I am sorry, Captain, but there _is_ no cure.”

“Then we’ll have to find one,” Picard said simply. He was not about to just roll over to give up. Not until there still was something he could do. “There are laboratories on this ship; dozens of them. There are scientists who count as the best and the brightest in Starfleet. _Use_ them. Use anything or anyone you need – but find me a cure.”

The Vulcan inclined her head respectfully. “We shall do our best, Captain. However, I cannot guarantee success.”

“I understand that,” Picard replied soberly, “and I don’t expect wonders from you, Doctor. All I expect is that you do what you can. General order 9 or no, I’m not ready to give up our people just yet.”


	5. A Conflict of Interests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technical data of the _Oberth_ -class vessel are borrowed from the Ex Astris Scientia website. If I’ve misinterpreted anything, it’s not the fault of that excellent site. I’ve made the _Copernicus_ an _Oberth_ -class ship because it was said to be a science vessel. Feel free to disagree with me. The rest of the technobabble is from the “Next Generation Technical Manual.
> 
> The captain of the Copernicus is “played” by Linda Hunt. Commander Yarell is, of course, Denise Crosby, and “Heroes” Jack Coleman (aka Nathan Bennett) has been cast as Dr. Blodgett.

Riker had left Hodell and Eakins behind on the _Copernicus_ bridge to reactivate the consoles of the tactical station, where they hoped to download the previous log entries from. Freeman remained with them, trying to find out what had killed the dead executive officer, whose body was still half-lying in the command chair.

“Sooo,” Hodell said languidly, while doing his best to find the right connection within the opened and seriously vandalized console of the communications system and finally shut off the distress signal. “Are the two of you getting married any time, soon?”

“Perhaps; perhaps not,” Eakins replied evasively. He was a very private person who hated to discuss his personal life with strangers. Even with Hodell, with whom he’d served together on the _Horatio_ for a while and whom he considered a friend.

“Why not?” like all Daliwakans, Hodell had married right after having reached maturity. The human reluctance to form permanent and binding relationships remained something of a mystery for him.

Eakins shrugged, finding the whole topic embarrassing, and gave no answer. Looking up from his dead patient, Freeman, who was a lot less uptight, came to his aid.

“Superstition,” the med tech explained. “We’re afraid that making it official would damage our relationship.”

Hodell stared at him, completely baffled. “You humans have the most bewildering beliefs I’ve ever heard of.”

“I thought you were to fifty per cent human, too,” Eakins noted.

Hodell shrugged. “A mere technicality. I’ve been raised as a Daliwakan; I _think_ like one and _feel_ like one,” he glanced at Freeman. “Have you found anything?”

Freeman shook his head. “These red marks on the man’s neck are definitely bite marks of some sort… although _what_ might have caused them is unclear so far. I’m fairly sure, though, that the blood has been removed from the body through these wounds.”

“As I said: space vampires,” Hodell joked; then he found something within the console. “Ah! Here it is; the distress call has been terminated. Now for the ship’s logs… there…” he touched his comm badge. “Hodell to _Enterprise_ ; tactical station aboard the _Copernicus_ has been reactivated… sort of. Prepare to receive log transmission.”

“Acknowledged,” Data’s voice answered. “Send transmission, Mr. Hodell. We are ready to receive.”

“Transmission is being sent,” Hodell touched the controls necessary to transmit the logs… and stepped back in horror as he spotted a fifteen-centimetre-long, slimy red worm slithering across the cables within the open console. “What the hell is _that_?”

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t belong here,” Eakins replied. “Colin, do you have a test tube?”

“Sure,” Freeman produced the requested item, and with the help of a pair of tweezers, he grabbed the creature and placed it into the test tube. The thing writhed within, trying to push the unbreakable tube apart with the help of its tentacles – fortunately, to no effect.

“Xenobiology will have their field day with this,” Hodell commented. “Do you have a clue _what_ it could be?”

Freeman shrugged. “If not for its size or colour, I’d say it looks like a Regular bloodworm. But those are white, soft and barely a third of the size of this thing. Besides, Regulus VI is under quarantine. Has been for a century and a half.”

“Could this thing have killed the commander here?” Eakins asked, nodding at the corpse in the command chair.

“Perhaps,” Freeman said, “but surely not alone. This is something that must be more closely investigated.”

“Well,” Hodell said, “there are enough scientists aboard the _Enterprise_ to study this thing and figure out what it is. Let’s shut this console down again and get out of here as long as we still can.”

He reached back into the opened console… and yelped in pain as something sharp bit him. He yanked his hand out and he and Eakins were horrified to see several more of the large red worms attached to his hand. He tried to shake them off but they were burrowing their fanged tentacles into his skin, not letting lose.

Eakins hit his comm badge. “Eakins to Riker. Sir, we’ve sent the logs to the _Enterprise_ , but Ensign Hodell has been attacked by some sort of creatures. Ensign Freeman thinks they might have killed the executive officer of the _Copernicus_. Orders, sir?”

“Try to get Hodell free of the things and leave the bridge as quickly as you can,” Riker ordered. “We’re coming to your aid. Riker out.”

Eakins turned back to Hodell who still hadn’t been able to get rid of the worms on his hand. In fact, an entire wave of worms started slithering out of the open console, sliding down the removed panels, and attached themselves to different parts of his body.

“Oh God!” Hodell screamed in searing pain and horror. “Oh God, no! Dan, help me! Don’t let me die like this!”

Eakins fired his phaser into a group of the worms on the floor – to his shocked surprise, they transformed into the same pink and gold wavicles they’d previously seen in the corridor. Eakins fired again and another group of worms exploded into colourful sparkles. In the meantime, even more worms were pouring out of the open console, falling over Hodell like blood rain, covering his entire body, muffling the man’s desperate screams.

Eakins backed away in horror as the next swarm of bloodworms turned away from the fallen man and made its way in his direction.

“Dan!” Freeman called out to him. “It’s no use! You can’t help him. We need to get out of here, _now_! There’s nothing you can do for Hodell.”

“Yes, there is,” Eakins replied, suddenly eerily calm as his training finally kicked in. “Forgive me, Mikael,” he said, to his dying shipmate; then he set his phaser to _kill_ and put the unfortunate man out of his misery.

A large cloud of wavicles resulted from Hodell’s disintegration, but the worms still kept coming from the opened console, in even greater numbers than before.

At that moment Riker and Worf came up behind them, and without asking questions, they opened fire at the worms, generating new clouds of wavicles in their wake. Still, they could not keep up with the new and numerous swarms of bloodworms, and so Riker decided that the best course of action would be to run to safety.

“The turbolift!” he called out to the others. “Run!”

Eakins grabbed the hand of the petrified Freeman and dragged him towards the turbolift, while still firing at the worms that kept coming. Riker and Worf followed suit. Finally, they reached the turbolift and squeezed themselves into the narrow little car.

“Deck Two,” Riker told the computer, while the turbolift doors were closing – way too slowly for his taste, as a new swarm of bloodworms was slithering towards them at alarming speed. “Emergency start. Authorization: Riker, William T, Code Alpha-6-0.”

The turbolift doors snapped closed and the car swung into motion with a breakneck speed. Freeman felt his stomach lurch into his throat, which could have been either the near free fall of the lift or the scene he’d just witnessed on the bridge.

“Where are we going?” Eakins asked.

“Rec room,” Riker explained. “Geordi found access to Captain Tensus’ personal files from there and is trying to break the code at the moment.”

They reached the room on the lower deck without further problems and found LaForge working at one of the shared terminals of the room. Ensigns Burke and Nagel were standing at the door, tricorder in the hand, checking for lifesigns.

“Hurry up,” Burke said. “Whatever it is, it’s hot at your heels.”

“Seal the doors shut and let’s hope the worms won’t be able to make their way through them,” Riker ordered, breathing heavily.

Worf and Burke followed his orders, using their phase rifles to weld the doors shut. Freeman, in the meantime, fell to his knees in a shadowy corner and threw up violently. Calming down his own breathing with some effort, Riker turned to Eakins.

“Report, Lieutenant.”

“The worms came from within the opened tactical console on the bridge,” Eakins told him in a calm, even voice that would have put a Vulcan to shame. “They attacked Ensign Hodell _en masse_ , burrowing their tentacles into his skin. He couldn’t shake them off. I tried to fire at the worms as they came out of the console, but they just kept coming. Ensign Hodell was beyond help, so I was forced to kill him to spare him further agony.”

“It was the honourable thing to do,” Worf grunted, clearly impressed.

“I don’t know about honour,” Eakins replied tiredly. “All I know is that Mikael Hodell was my friend… and I killed him.”

“You had no other choice,” Freeman wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his uniform shirt and climbed to his feet. “He was being eaten alive. You saved him from unnecessary pain, that’s all.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier to bear,” Eakins said flatly.

Freeman touched his shoulder in a brief gesture of compassion. “I know. I’m sorry, Dan.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Eakins turned away, denying himself the comfort of his partner’s touch. “Commander, have you found anything to explain the presence of these worms aboard the _Copernicus_?”

“Not yet,” LaForge replied in Riker’s stead. “But we know now that the _Copernicus_ has definitely violated the Regulan quarantine. I’ve backtracked her course to the Regulus system, although there’s no entry about which planet they’ve actually visited.”

“It could only be Regulus VI,” Worf said.

Freeman shook his head. “Not necessarily. Regulan bloodworms are native to both Regulus II and Regulus V.”

“ _Ordinary_ bloodworms,” Worf corrected. These here are plasmasites… a vastly different kind. They are the ones because of which Regulus VI had to be put under quarantine one hundred and fifty years ago.”

“Are you sure about that?” Riker asked.

“I’ve never seen a plasmasite before; nobody has and lived to tell the tale,” Worf replied. “But yes, I’m quite certain about it, Commander.”

“In that case, we need to contact the _Enterprise_ ,” Riker said grimly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Picard took the news without surprise.

“Doctor Selar and Mr. Data have come to the same conclusion,” he told his executive officer. “You know, of course, what _that_ means, Number One?”

“Of course,” Riker answered. “No rescue attempt is allowed. Starfleet General Order 9 is in effect, and a Code 9 procedure must be implemented immediately.”

“Which means what exactly?” Freeman asked, not liking the sound of that a bit.

“They’ll have to destroy the _Copernicus_ , with us still aboard,” Ensign Nagel told him matter-of-factly. “We’re most likely infected anyway and would be a risk for any other vessel, including the _Enterprise_.”

Freeman blanched but managed to keep his fear under control… for now.

“We’re not quite there yet,” Picard said. “What’s your situation, Number One?”

“We’ve lost Ensign Hodell,” Riker informed him. “The rest of the away team is safe.”

“No; I don’t really think we are, sir,” Eakins guided the light of his rifle torch at the sealed entrance, and they saw with growing horror that several of the worms had already managed to squeeze their way over the top of the closed doors… and more were following.

“That’s impossible!” Worf howled in outrage and opened fire at the creatures. “We’ve sealed that door! _Sealed_!”

“They must have found a breach in the structural integrity of the bulkhead,” LaForge tried to wear off the newly produced cloud of wavicles the same way one would try to shoo away a swarm of mosquitoes. “Commander, we can’t stay here! We’ll be eaten in no time.”

“Correction, Captain,” Riker reported calmly. “It seems that our situation is _not_ safe, after all. Any suggestions in which direction we should flee?”

“According to the _Enterprise_ 's sensors, the entire saucer section of the _Copernicus_ is infested with the plasmasites,” Picard told him. “The only pace that might offer relative safety is within the repulsor field, in the middle of Cargo Bay Two.”

“I don’t think we can reach it in our own, Captain,” Riker said.

“You don’t have to,” Picard answered. “Chief O’Brien tells me he can beam you over, right in the middle of the field. There is some interference, but he thinks he can compensate for that. It _is_ a risk, of course, but…”

“But still better than wait until we’re covered in bloodworms,” Riker finished for him. “Understood, sir. We’ll be ready in twenty seconds,” he gestured the others to take up a tight formation around him, then said. “Riker to O’Brien. Six to beam over to Cargo Bay Two. Energize.”

Just when the sealed door began to break down under the sheer mass of bloodworms, the transporter beam caught them and carried them away, hopefully into safety.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
All of them, with the exception of Work, who – to his surprise – found himself in the Isolation Lab of _Enterprise_ ’s sickbay.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“I apologize for the detour, Lieutenant,” Selar answered calmly from the other side of the containment field, “but I need a blood sample from you for my research. Should you turn out to be infected as well, we shall return you to the _Copernicus_. Of not, you can resume your duties on the bridge.”

Worf glared at her like a wounded _targ_. “You’ve no right…”

“On the contrary,” she interrupted, not the least intimidated by his death glare. “I have every right. I am the acting Chief Medical Officer of the _Enterprise_ , which _gives_ me the right to use people as I see fit during a medical emergency. Now, be quiet and let me run this analysis.”

Worf scowled but shut up, knowing that trying to push the Vulcan would be fruitless. After about six minutes, Selar re-checked the results and nodded in satisfaction.

“It seems that you have been fortunate, Lieutenant,” she said. “I could not find any living plasmasites in your blood… or dead ones, for that matter. It is safe to assume, I think, that they have all directly gone after the easier prey: human blood. You may leave isolation if you wish; you present no danger to anyone.”

She dropped the forcefield and Worf stormed out, without as much as looking back. Selar suppressed the very un-Vulcan like urge to sigh, shook her head and returned to her work, hoping that the Klingon’s immunity against this particular kind of plasmasites would prove helpful in her efforts to find a cure.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
When they rematerialized in the _Copernicus_ ’ cargo bay, they found themselves in the company of fifteen haggard survivors. Fourteen of them were wearing various kinds of Starfleet uniforms, while the last one, a human male in his mid-forties, was obviously a civilian… and an important one, too, if his fine clothes and his haughty demeanour were any indication.

Riker spotted the captain of the _Copernicus_ at once – it would have been hard not to. After all, Captain Aria Tensus was barely four feet tall, and the only Starfleet officer ever originating from the First Federation. She’d have looked like a child in a uniform, if not for her deeply lined, mature face. At first sight, one would have guessed her age of about fifty; in truth, she was well into her nineties. Her species was small yet long-living.

“Commander,” she said in her raspy voice, “I regret to have gotten you in this situation. I strongly opposed to sending out the distress call but was outvoted by _higher_ Starfleet authority.”

The extreme dryness in her voice clearly revealed what she thought about said authority. Despite his better judgement, Riker couldn’t help but sympathize. Sometimes Headquarters was too generous in playing with the lives of simple Starfleet personnel.

“Well, that’s a moot point now,” he replied. “We’re here, and we have to find a way out of this mess – for all of us.”

“Good luck,” Captain Tensus answered dryly, while Freeman went to check on the condition of the other survivors, doing his best to ease their pain. “Which ship have you come from, Commander?”

“From the _Enterprise_ ,” Riker said. “I’m William T. Riker, First Officer. Lieutenant LaForge is our chief pilot and a passable engineer at that. Lieutenant Eakins and Ensigns Nadel and Burke are from Security; and Ensign Freeman here is one of our medical technicians. Unfortunately, we’ve just lost our systems technician a few minutes ago.”

“My sincerest condolences,” the small captain bowed formally as it was custom among her people. “What you can see here, Commander Riker, is the rest of my crew,” she gestured at two Bolians, both wearing security uniforms. “Lieutenant Ays Brok, acting Chief of Security, and Ensign Taras Bulba, his co-husband. Dr. Cosma Shiva Hagen, second science officer,” she introduced a sensuous Betazoid beauty with the usual byzantine eyes of her species. “We don’t know what happened to Commander Ahrens, our Chief of Sciences, but since he’s been infected, too, I assume he must be dead by now.”

“He is,” LaForge affirmed bitterly. “He grabbed my phaser, killed himself and managed to infect us all in the process with whatever those flying things are.”

“Plasmasites,” a cold female voice answered, and a blonde woman in her mid-fifties, wearing the uni-coloured black uniform of Starfleet Intelligence and the rank insignia of a full Commander separated from the small crowd and approached them. She was accompanied by the civilian, who seemed to be about the same age. “And if you’re indeed infested by them, it was highly irresponsible to beam into our secured area and endanger our lives as well.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Riker said icily, “but it was either that or being eaten alive by gargantuan bloodworms. Sure you can understand why this was our only possible choice.”

They glared at each other with unveiled hostility, and Captain Tensus cleared her throat to hide her mild amusement. She seemed like a patient grandmother, watching her bickering grandchildren.

“By the way, _this_ is the higher Starfleet authority I was speaking about,” she said. “Allow me the questionable honour to introduce you to Commander Jenna Yarell, from Starfleet Intelligence. The… _gentleman_ is Doctor Raye Blodgett, a civilian scientist working for Starfleet Sciences.”

Riker turned to Yarell with a frown. “Have _you_ authorized the _Copernicus_ to violate the Regulan quarantine?” he demanded. “Are you aware of the fact that this is a Code Nine security breach? Or are you Intelligence guys suffering from delusions of godhood and believe the regulations don’t apply to you?”

Yarell’s round face showed not the least concern, and her pale blue eyes remained cold like ice. There was a certain doll-like quality about her, assuming people would fabricate dolls that were supposed to look middle-aged.

“Nonsense,” she said. “Code Nine doesn’t apply here. This mission is an authorized one, designed to discern if it would be possible to neutralize the threat of plasmasite infestation – based on Klingon physiology. As you probably know, the different blood chemistry of the Klingons makes them so immune they even drink the worms in bloodwine. We’re trying to use _that_ to our advantage… before _they_ ’d do it.”

Riker stared at her in stunned disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? Correct me if I’m wrong, but as far as I know, we’re _allied_ to the Klingon Empire.”

“Not at all,” the civilian, Dr. Blodgett, intervened. “It’s a genuine concern, Commander. Klingons make finicky allies. Can you imagine what will happen if they – or the Ferengi, or the Romulans, or any other hostile powers – spread bloodworms throughout Federation space?”

“Actually, I can,” Riker answered dryly, “and so can Starfleet Command. Which was the reason to establish the Regulan quarantine in the first place… and the disaster you’ve caused by violating it proves that it had been the right thing to do. Now, have you really found a way to neutralize the plasmasites?”

Blodgett stiffened. “That’s strictly need-to-know.”

“Tough,” Riker countered. “I’m the only one who can talk my captain out of shooting your sorry asses into subatomic particles; so I need to know. Or else I’ll strongly suggest him to carry out the Code Nine directive.”

“You can’t do that!” Yarell protested.

“Of course I can,” Riker said. “and I will, unless you lay all cards on the table, _now_.”

Yarell and Blodgett exchanged concerned looks; then the Intelligence officer shrugged helplessly. “Tell him,” she said.

“Well,” the civilian scientist began uncomfortably, “it’s been proved that the initial spores are drawn to oxygen-binding enzymes – exactly like those which are found in human blood. Once there, they metamorphosize into the bloodworms…”

“In other words, you’ve no idea how to neutralize them,” Freeman said bitterly, looking up from his current patient.

“Well, no, not exactly,” Blodgett admitted, “but we’re close. We’ve made considerable progress in understanding their life cycle, and with enough time to finish our experiments…”

“I’m afraid there won’t be _enough_ time,” LaForge interrupted. “In fact, there might be no time at all. The repulsor field – your only means of safety – is completely surrounded by these slimy worms, and the energy for the field will only remain strong enough to repel them for a short time longer.”

Blodgett blanched at that blunt statement and panic began to spread among the handful of survivors. Only Captain Tensus kept her calm; but again, she’d survived the one or other major crisis in her seven decades long career as a Starfleet Officer.

“So, what are we doing now?” she asked, no-one in particular.

Riker shrugged. “I’d suggest the _Enterprise_. Is there anything else?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Captain Picard was sitting on the bridge of the _Enterprise_ in his usual, unflappable manner, radiating utter calm and serenity as always. In the inside, however, he was experiencing profound concern. What little Data had found out about Commander Yarell and her previous assignments, suggested someone with a very rigid way of thinking and with a somewhat fanatic attitude concerning the safety of the Federation. She wouldn’t back off one inch when she thought that safety to be endangered and would be very hard to persuade that she might be wrong.

Plus, there were about twenty endangered people aboard the _Copernicus_ – including _Enterprise_ ’s own away team, already infected with the plasmasites – and Sickbay still hadn’t come up with any solution. In fact, there hadn’t bee any news from Sickbay for hours. Perhaps a little remainder wouldn’t harm…

The captain touched his comm badge. “Pickard to Sickbay. Doctor Selar, can you tell me something… _anything_ that might help?”

“Doctor Selar in on her way to the bridge, Captain,” the voice of Dr. Martin answered. That piece of news revitalized Picard at once.

“Have you found a cure?” he asked.

“Afraid not, Captain,” the doctor answered regretfully. “In fact, I don’t think there could be any medical solution, not without long and extensive research in secured labs. We’ve got reason to assume that the metabolism of the plasmasites has been deliberately tampered with, as they show definite differences compared with the more common bloodworms; the ones Klingons are immune to.”

“So, does this mean we can’t do anything to help those people and will simply have to let them die?” Picard asked.

“There is _one_ method that might work,” Dr. Martin replied, “but it would mean to put the patients at extreme risk. Doctor Selar will explain you the details. Sickbay out.”

Picard frowned. He didn’t like the sound of _that_. On the other hand, Selar was a Vulcan and not prone to taking extreme risks, unless he found it _logical_ to do so… meaning that there wasn’t any other solution and a possibility of more than eighty per cent to success. Statistics were the Vulcan way to deal with probabilities.

He only hoped that Commander Yarell would see the logic in whatever dangerous methods Dr. Selar was about to suggest.

“Mr. Worf,” he turned to the Klingon who had returned to the bridge after being released from the Isolation Lab, “establish a conference connection to the _Copernicus_. I believe Commander Riker will want to hear this.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Needless to say that Riker was fairly shocked by the Vulcan’s suggestion.

“Are you telling us that the only way to save any infected person would be to have _all_ of the blood removed from their body, and then replacing it with fresh blood?” he asked incredulously. “ _That_ is your solution?”

“Correct, Commander,” Selar answered with unshakable Vulcan calmness. “By separating the blood from the living organism that it sustains, the plasmasites that have already begun the metamorphosis would be killed and present no further danger for either the patient or his or her surroundings. Only the spores can cause infection, as you know.”

“That’s all well and good, but wouldn’t this be an extremely dangerous gamble?” Riker asked. “Anyone undergoing this… _treatment_ would have no more than a few minutes for the transfusion to be complete – or that person would die.”

“Ten minutes at best,” Selar corrected. “And yes, there _is_ considerable risk involved. But this is the only method we can apply in the short time you have left. The only other solution would be to let the infection run its natural cycle – which would mean the inevitable death of every single person aboard the _Copernicus_.”

“I see,” Picard sighed. “Doctor, is there any secure way to beam those people over to the _Enterprise_ , without endangering everyone aboard our ship?”

“Yes, Captain,” the Vulcan answered without hesitation. “Engineering has already established modified containment fields around the Isolation Lab; beaming the patients directly there should not present more than a four point three nine per cent risk for the crew to be contaminated.”

“And you consider that an acceptable risk,” Picard said. It wasn’t really a question, but the Vulcan acknowledged it nonetheless.

“Yes, Captain, I do.”

“Very well,” Picard came to a decision. “Make it so. Have Sickbay prepared to accept the patients in the worst physical state first. Time might be an issue here.”

“Understood, Captain,” the Vulcan left.

“Captain Picard,” the cold, authoritative voice of Commander Yarell interrupted their conversation via comm system. “Surely, I don’t have to remind you of Starfleet General Order Thirteen, which states that _critically important_ personnel must be rescued from a hostile situation before anyone else, do I?”

“No, Commander, you don’t have to,” Picard replied icily.

“Then I believe we both agree that Doctor Blodgett and myself should be in the first group that will be transported back to the _Enterprise_ ,” Yarell continued; then she added as an afterthought. “Together with Captain Tensus, of course.”

“Forget it,” the small woman growled somewhere in the background. “I won’t flee my ship first like some cowardly rat!” _Like you_ , the unspoken comment hovered between them.

“Commander, you can’t be serious!” Riker protested. “There are sick people here that need medical assistance, and they need it _now_!”

“That’s unfortunate, and we’ll do our best to help them,” Yarell replied, “but there are higher priorities that must be respected.”

“Like saving your own ass, right?” Riker all but exploded into her face. “Of all the selfish, cowardly…”

“Number One,” Picard interrupted in his most severe command voice, before his second-in-command could give the Intelligence officer a sound reason to have him court-martialed. “She is right. General Order Thirteen is very clear about this. Like it or not – and _I_ certainly don’t like it – we must act as she demands from us.”

“And have these people suffer or die, just because a flag officer is too concerned with her own safety?” Riker asked in utter contempt. These people need _help_ , Captain.”

“And they _will_ have all the help we are able to provide,” Selar’s voice answered. “Rest assured, Commander, that I have taken such hindrances into consideration.”

Picard looked around in surprise. “Where is Doctor Selar? A moment ago she was still here.”

There were collective shrugs from the bridge personnel. Nobody had a clue where the Vulcan could have gone.”

“Computer,” Picard said, “locate Doctor Selar.”

“Doctor Selar is in Transporter Room Three,” the artificial, feminine voice of the ship’s computer replied promptly.

“I believe she is planning to beam over to the _Copernicus_ , Captain,” Data commented helpfully.

“Has she gone mad?” Picard asked from his Second Officer in disbelief.

“I do not think so, Captain,” the android replied. “My theory would be that she is referring to her oath as a physician and intends to help the people aboard the _Copernicus_ any way she can, until they can be beamed over to the _Enterprise_.”

Picard briefly closed his eyes. The verbosity of his android officer sometimes drove him to spontaneous headaches.

“We’ll see about that,” he rose from the command chair. “Mr. Data, you have the bridge. Mr. Worf, you with me.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
When they reached Transporter Room Three, they found Dr. Selar, in full hazmat gear and equipped with two oversized med kits, standing at the control console.

“Hold the transport, Ensign,” Picard ordered Sonya Gomez, a newbie from Engineering, who was operating the controls; then he turned to the Vulcan. “Just where do you think you are going, Doctor?”

“I am preparing to beam over to the _Copernicus_ , of course,” Selar answered with that infuriating patience Vulcans sometimes used when dealing with humans; even with their commanding officers. “The survivors of the _Copernicus_ need medical assistance, Captain. I must examine them and inject them with drugs that can slow down the metamorphosis of the plasmasites until they can be over here. They are considerably weakened, according to Commander Riker’s preliminary report, so I am taking metabolic boasters with me to ensure that they will, in fact, survive long enough for being treated.”

“You’re taking unnecessary risks, Doctor,” Picard said. “There is no need for you to go over in person. Certainly Ensign Freeman can handle a few inoculations on his own.”

“Ensign Freeman is a highly capable medical technician when it comes to field work,” Selar allowed, “but he does not have any experience with infectious agents or parasitic organisms. He would not know what to use, should one of the patients have a toxic reaction. These are very potent drugs we need to use here.”

“Why can’t you send Doctor Martin then?” Picard asked. “He used to work at Gagarin Station and is more experienced when it comes to pathogens than everyone else from the medical staff.”

“Doctor Martin is human,” Selar answered, “and it is a proven fact that humans are particularly vulnerable to plasmasite infections. As a Vulcan, I have a considerably higher immunity factor; although I cannot compare it with that of a Klingon, of course,” she added with a glance in Worf’s direction.”

“That might be,” Picard said,”but Doctor Martin is only responsible for himself. You as a single parent, on the other hand…”

“Captain,” the Vulcan interrupted, “such a remark is beneath you. T’Meir and I have discussed the danger of our mission many times in the past. She understands the risks; and she knows that should I die in the line of duty, our Clan would take care of her. I do not take _unnecessary_ risks. As you can see, I have prepared myself to stay as safe as possible, given the circumstances. But if I do _not_ beam over to that other ship to help those people, although I am the one best suited to do so, then my oath as a physician is meaningless and I would act against everything I had been taught as a Vulcan. The needs of the many…”

“… outweigh the need of the few; or that of a single person, I know,” Picard finished the old Vulcan mantra for her and sighed. “I could forbid you to beam over, you know.”

“I know,” Selar smiled at him, without actually smiling. It was a Vulcan thing, involving the eyes only; even after decades of exposure to the many Vulcan non-expressions, Picard still couldn’t figure out how they were doing it. “But you will not, will you? I am certain that you can see the logic in my actions, Captain.”

“Perhaps,” Picard said reluctantly. “It doesn’t mean I have to _like_ it, though.”

“Of course not,” she agreed. “This is simply a necessity; one that neither of us can avoid. Now, if you do not mind, Captain, I have patients to treat,” she stepped onto the transporter platform and looked at the ensign standing behind the operator console. “Energize.”

Sonya Gomez stole an uncertain look at Picard. The captain nodded reluctantly. Gomez touched her controls, and in the next moment the Vulcan doctor was gone.

“Transfer complete,” Gomez reported. Picard nodded absent-mindedly.

“Thank you, Ensign,” then he, too, looked at the Klingon, as though asking for his opinion.

“You’re asking me as a Klingon?” Worf clarified. “Beat her. As a professional... she was right.”

On his way to the turbolift Picard shook his head ruefully, unable to shake off the foreboding of impending doom. If _Worf_ had suddenly developed a sense of humour, the end of the world as they knew it could not be very far.


	6. Fear & Loathing Aboard the Starship Enterprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The medical science as discussed in this chapter is, again, completely imaginary. It isn’t supposed to make any sense in the light of our twenty-first century medicine.
> 
> Visuals for Selar’s daughter T’Meir: she’s the Vulcan child seen in the crowd when the civilians are evacuated to the saucer section in the TNG pilot. She was played by Mackenzie Westmore, the then-teenaged daughter of makeup-artist Michael Westmore.

When Picard returned to the bridge, Alpha shift personnel were just about to be relieved. It did catch the captain’s attention that Ensign Haskell – tall, athletic, dark-skinned and smartly handsome in his burgundy red bridge uniform – seemed very uncomfortable while relieving Ensign Gibson from the Conn position. In truth, his face seemed positively grey with anxiety, something the captain had never seen on him before.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Haskell?” he asked.

Douglas Haskell, a human with an Alpha Centaurian citizenship, shrugged evasively.

“No problem, sir,” he replied, “Just… just some serious concern.”

“Oh?” Picard said. “Concern about _what_ , Ensign?”

“About this rescue mission, sir,” Haskell explained, still clearly uncomfortable to be the one to broach the topic to their commanding officer but equally clearly determined to do it anyway. “There’s been… talk among those of us who’ve got their families on board. They… _we_ fear that that the disease will spread throughout the _Enterprise_ of already infected personnel is being beamed over. Some of us think that perhaps we should not proceed with this mission…”

“Do you?” Picard asked with a smile that lacked any amusement. Haskell nodded. “Well, Ensign, in case you hadn’t realized yet, the _Enterprise_ does not operate on a democratic basis. I understand your concern; I really do. But we’re _not_ abandoning our shipmates. And we’re not throwing away half the human race because the other half is afraid. Is that understood?”

“Aye, sir,” Haskell replied sullenly.

To a certain extent Picard could understand him. The young man had just married less than a year ago, and his wife was currently pregnant with twins. That he was worried about his new family’s safety was more than understandable. Beaming the infected people over to the _Enterprise_ was a risk, even if a moderate one, despite all security precautions they had taken. But that didn’t mean that Picard would even consider leaving those people to the bloodworms.

That he’d have some serious words with the Intelligence officer and her civilian sidekick as soon as they beamed over from the _Copernicus_ was another matter entirely.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The arrival of the Vulcan doctor aboard the _Copernicus_ was the source of some surprise and – at least where Freeman was concerned – profound relief. Selar checked on the patients, declared that Freeman had done an _adequate_ job (which, coming from a Vulcan, counted as high praise), and instructed him what to inject them with to give their weakened metabolism a serious boost.

“This is not just about you being infected with plasmasites,” she explained. “Your system will be first completely drained and then filled with artificial blood. That would put considerable strain even on a strong, healthy humanoid body.”

“Assuming we’ll live long enough to at least _try_ ,” the younger Bolian security officer commented darkly.

The Vulcan raised a superior eyebrow. “I assure you that you will, Ensign. In fact, as a Bolian, you have a much better chance than your human colleagues. Your species is known for its high resistance levels.”

“Not high enough,” the Bolian growled. “I’d _love_ to know where these damned worms came from in the first place.”

“According to the medical database of Starfleet, they originate from the common bloodworms,” Selar answered. “They were crated though intentional genetic mutation, as a biological weapon to be used in one of the interplanetary wars within the Regulus system, approximately two hundred and sixty-three Standard years ago. Supposedly, this was the war that eradicated all indigenous life on Regulus VI, with the exception of the plasmasites themselves.”

Commander Yarell, who was waiting for the Vulcan’s permission to be beamed over to the _Enterprise_ , gave her a narrow-eyed look.

“And how would _you_ know about this, Lieutenant?” she demanded. “This is confidential information, not to be discussed publicly.”

“I am a Vulcan, Commander,” Selar answered, clearly immune to the threatening glare of the Intelligence officer. “I can only work efficiently if I have all necessary data to my disposal. And as a Vulcan, I know how to get them if I have to. Besides, trying to keep the existence of the plasmasites secret from someone who is already infected by them is not only highly unethical, it also lacks basic logic.”

A communications call interrupted her.

“Worf to Selar,” the Klingon’s gruff voice said. “Doctor, the auxiliary sickbay is now ready to accept the first patients.”

“It is about time,” Selar ran a quick scan on both Yarell and Blodgett, then nodded. “You are both stable enough to leave,” she told them. “Please, do so. Your presence here is _not_ helpful.”

While the two were gaping in righteous indignation, she touched her comm badge. “Selar to _Enterprise_. Two _critically important_ persons to beam over. Energize when ready.”

In the next moment, the two disappeared in the transporter beam. Despite their situation, Riker grinned at the Vulcan.

“You never cease to amaze me, Doctor. That was a peak performance.”

Selar shook her head. “On the contrary, Commander; it was unnecessary and therefore illogical. Unfortunately, not even Vulcans are completely immune to the negative effects of human…” she trailed off, seeking for the right word but couldn’t find it.

“…stupidity?” Riker offered helpfully. “Warmongery? Paranoia?”

“I might not have chosen quite such colourful expressions, Commander, but I was definitely thinking along the same lines,” the Vulcan replied with dignity.

Everyone around them grinned a little, with the exception of LaForge who was staring at his tricorder unhappily.

“Commander,” he warned. “According to my readings, the repulsor field is gonna fail in about forty minutes.”

Riker sighed. “Lieutenant, you’re the bearer of just wonderful news today. Is there _anything_ we can do?”

“Not on our end, sir, we can’t. It all depends on Sickbay now.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“Captain,” Worf reported, “Commander Yarell and Doctor Blodgett have been beamed into the Isolation Lab and are currently undergoing treatment. Also, Commander Riker informs us that in about forty minutes, the repulsor field aboard the _Copernicus_ will likely fail.”

“Understood,” Picard rose from his command chair and tugged on his uniform jacket. “In that case, there is something I need to do. You have the bridge, Mr. Worf. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Aye, sir,” Worf walked down from his station to take Picard’s place, his large body barely fitting into the chair.

Picard rode the turbolift to the deck where the quarters of officers with families were situated and sounded the bell at Dr. Selar’s quarters.

After a moment, the door slid open and a Vulcan girl in a miniature Starfleet uniform – blue like that of her mother’s, yet without rank insignia – came to answer the call. Were she human, Picard would have guessed her to be about ten or twelve years old. She might be somewhat older, though; Vulcan children experienced their second growth spurt several years later than human ones.

She recognized the visitor at once, of course, although they had never actually met before.

“Captain Picard,” she said politely. “How can I help you?”

“Actually,” Picard replied slowly, “I thought I can do something for _you_. I was wondering if you would like to follow your mother’s progress aboard the _Copernicus_. I can grant you access to the live feed if you would like it.”

The child – T’Meir, he corrected himself mentally, her name is T’Meir – looked at him with the characteristic seriousness only Vulcan children could display.

“Are you trying to prepare me for something… something terrible, Captain?” she asked, suddenly sounding very young.

“Why would you think that?” Picard replied in surprise.

“Everyone knows that you are uncomfortable around children, sir,” T’Meir answered with disarming Vulcan honesty. “Usually, you are not so friendly to us…” she paused for a moment before continuing. “May I ask you a question, Captain?”

Picard nodded. “Certainly. I promise to answer as honestly as I can. What would you like to know?”

“I wonder why Starfleet sends whole families into space when there are so many dangers which abound,” the child said. “On Vulcan vessels, it is different. Missions can last decades, and therefore bondmates need to stay within reach. Humans, however, do not. And yet they take their children with them. Where is the logic in that?”

“As your mother – and perhaps every other Vulcan who has ever had dealings with humans – would tell you, we are not the most logically oriented species in this galaxy,” Picard replied dryly.

T’Meir nodded. “I am well aware of that fact, Captain. It does not answer my question, though.”

“No, I suppose it does not,” Picard allowed himself a wry smile. “Well, let me try to find an answer for you. We take our families with us because that is something we’ve always done. Because our ancestors took their children with them when they crossed the oceans in ships and the continents in covered wagons. Because… because you _are_ our children and we cannot leave you behind. Does this answer your question?”

The girl nodded again. “Yes, Captain, it does. Thank you. And to answer _your_ question… no, I do not want to follow my mother’s progress I cannot help her from here anyway, and wasting my time with fruitless anxiety would be illogical.”

“Very well," Picard said. “It’s your choice. I’ll inform you if there’s anything of importance you might need to know.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
When he returned to the bridge, he found Data in lively discussion with Selar, the latter still aboard the _Copernicus_.

“It seems that Doctor Blodgett – with the considerable help of Lieutenant Commander Ahrens and Lieutenant Hagen over here – has managed to figure out the life cycle of the plasmasites,” the Vulcan was saying when he emerged from the turbolift cabin. “Apparently, they grow in a person’s blood until they reach a certain point and then, like malaria, they explode and start looking for new flesh. With which the whole cycle is reset and the infection spreads like wildfire.”

Worf vacated the command chair wordlessly and returned to his station. Picard nodded his thanks and sat down, listening to the conversation.

“Interesting,” the android replied. “The main problem is, of course, that we cannot destroy the bloodworms because they merely become wavicles, which spread the infestation.”

“Exactly,” Selar agreed. “Therefore the logical solution would be either to neutralize the infection or to prevent it from happening in the first place.”

“Logical perhaps,” Data allowed. “However, I have researched the complete medical database and found no existing method to do either. Not even Klingon natural immunity would be able to resist a prolonged exposure to the wavicles. Mr. Worf was fortunate; another hour or so, and he would have fallen ill, just like the others.”

“I still think that the Klingon immunity factor should be the starting point to any further research,” Selar said. “The Federation and the Klingon Empire had very little contact at the time Regulus VI was put under quarantine. Cooperation, in any area, including medical research, was practically nonexistent, so establishing the quarantine was the best thing Starfleet could do to keep Federation citizens safe.”

“Only that it was not a safe enough solution, as we can see,” Data commented.

“That is correct,” the Vulcan said. “Fortunately, things have changed during the recent decades. There is a high probability that if we compared our data with those of Klingon medical researchers, we might be able to get the bloodworm problem under control.”

“A probability indeed, but little else,” the android replied thoughtfully. “Or do you have a theory _how_ we should approach the problem?”

“Yes,” Selar replied without hesitation, “although it is only a theory at the moment. As I said before, genetics might be the key. Suppose the plasmasites were deliberate mutated to keep them from metabolizing the enzymes they need. Would it possible, in your estimate, to neutralize the infection that way?”

Data thought about it for several minutes, running the analysis directly in his complex positronic brain instead of the main computer. That way, he could monitor the process more closely, even if the results might lack some of the extensive details.

“Theoretically, it _is_ possible,” he finally said. “However, there are still too many factors that we currently cannot describe in an adequate manner. This would be a task for the Darwin Genetics Research Station, not for our labs. My suggestion would be to concentrate on saving the crewmembers trapped aboard the _Copernicus_ and leaving any further research to the experts.”

“And that’s exactly where we’re having a serious problem,” Freeman’s voice interrupted their conversation. “I have just spoken to Doctor Martin aboard the _Enterprise_. He told me there will not be enough artificial blood Sickbay them to provide complete transfusions for us all.”

“Can’t we replicate more?” Riker asked, ignoring the sounds of rapidly spreading panic among the _Copernicus_ ’ survivors.

“Not without the necessary templates for the medical replicators to work with. “Doctor Martin and his medical technicians will have to collect blood donors aboard the _Enterprise_. We will need human blood, mostly, but there are also Bolians, a Betazoid and the representatives of several other species who are going to need a transfusion.”

“Will we manage to produce enough blood before the repulsor field fails?” Picard asked.

“If we start summoning the donors at once and work quickly and no-one panics, it is doable,” Data said. “Of course, Doctor Martin and his helpers will have to continue treating the patients with artificial blood at the same time. This will be a very tight schedule.”

“In that case, we have no time to waste,” Picard glanced at the Klingon. “Give me a shipwide channel, Mr. Worf.”

“Shipwide channel open, sir.”

“All hands, this is the captain,” again, Picard tugged his uniform jacket in an unconscious gesture to collect his thoughts. “As you know, several of our crewmates are trapped aboard the _Copernicus_ because of a dangerous infection. Under normal circumstances, this would be a problem for medical personnel. For the first time in the history of this vessel, however, we have the chance – and the ethical obligation – to help Sickbay save them. All we have to do is to roll up our sleeves and donate a little blood for the medical replicators to work with. People with the right blood types will be called to Sickbay shortly. I expect everyone to follow that call, in order to save the lives of our people. Picard out.”

He nodded to Worf and the Klingon closed the channel. Picard took his place again… and caught Ensign Haskell looking at him a little uncomfortably.

“Is there a problem, Ensign?” he asked brusquely. He hoped this wasn’t again that idiocy about abandoning the rescue mission.

“No, sir,” Haskell replied. “It’s just… I think I should go Sickbay. My blood type is 0-negative… very rare, but there’s always at least _one_ person who might need it. I thought it would be easier if Sickbay had it ready in advance.”

Picard nodded. “Permission granted, Ensign. Mr. Data, take the conn position until relief arrives.”

He watched Haskell step into the turbolift and Data take his place, and a strong feeling of almost paternal pride towards his crew filled him. His people were truly the best. They might panic temporarily for the time, but in the end, they always did the right thing. What else could a captain wish for?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Auxiliary Sickbay was buzzing with activity when Haskell reached it. Nurse Temple, who’d been entrusted with the task to organize the blood donation according to blood types, was herding the donors and organizing the waiting queues, so that the whole action could be performed with a minimum of chaos. Nurse Ogawa led the group of med techs who were actually drawing the blood from the volunteers. Another group of med techs took the blood samples from them, categorized them, put them into isolated containers and transferred them to Haematology Lab, where they would be used as templates to produce more artificial blood.

The donors – humans, mostly, but also a selected number of other species, according to the needs of the sick people aboard the _Copernicus_ – were waiting patiently for their turn. Well, most of them were. One of the volunteers, a rather short, almost globular Bolian male, seemed extremely nervous, and – like all nervous Bolians – he chatted away in a high-pitched voice, talking a mile a minute and getting louder from second to second.

Haskell recognized Mr. Mot, the ship’s barber and rolled his eyes in exasperation. Mr. Mot was an excellent barber, but nerve-wrecking even on a good day. And this was obviously _not_ one of his good days.

“I’m not sure about this blood donation thing,” he declared loudly enough that it could be heard three rooms further down the corridor. A young male Vulcan, standing nearby in the blue uniform of the science section, winced in pain; his sensitive ears clearly didn’t react well to the Bolian’s pitch. With true Vulcan discipline, however, he refrained from giving any further sign of his discomfort.

“I mean,” the Bolian continued, “it seems fairly barbaric, doesn’t it? Are you _sure_ that it’s safe? Will it hurt?”

He was speaking to Counselor Troi, who, as the only Betazoid on board – well, _half_ -Betazoid anyway – had also been summoned to donate.

“No, it won’t hurt a bit,” Troi explained patiently. “I’ve done this before; you won’t feel more than a pinch – like when getting a hypospray. And I assure you that it’s quite safe. The medical instruments are absolutely sterile.”

“Well, I don’t know… Mr. Mot still seemed doubtful, but he brightened considerably when Nurse McClusker approached him with a hypospray. As a species that completely lacked any body hair, Bolian males usually found human females fascinating… and Mary McClusker sported a full head of curly reddish-blond hair that would have put a lion to shame.

Mr. Mot’s attention successfully diverted, the nurse was able to draw blood from him – of all the Bolians aboard, only he had the right blood type needed by the _Copernicus_ officers – without any further drama. When he had left, the atmosphere relaxed immediately, and Counselor Troi looked like someone who’d just escaped a raging headache coming her way.

Soon, Haskell’s turn came as well, and he was relieved to see Dr. Mahrwini coming to take his sample. The middle-aged expatriate from Angel One, whose snow white hair, paradoxically, made her look much younger than her actual age, was known for her gentle manners around patients, and Haskell, although he’d never admit it, was deadly afraid of hyposprays. Under Dr. Mahrwini’s feather light hands, however, he felt barely more than a pinch, just as Counselor Troi had promised the Bolian barber. In mere moments, the vial was filled with his blood and he could return to the bridge.

He thanked the android and took the conn position again. Data retuned to his science station, where he had been studying the _Copernicus_ logs transferred by the late Haskell for some time.

“Captain,” he said after a moment, displaying the surprisingly human frown; his recent experiments with facial expressions had apparently paid out. “These logs are incomplete. There is no information whatsoever about the plasmasite study Doctor Blodgett is supposed to have performed aboard the _Copernicus_.”

“Coincidence or intentional coverage?” Picard asked.

“Unknown, Captain,” the android said. “It cannot, however, be a mistake that would have happened during data transfer. Geordi and I checked the files on both ends of the connection. Whatever was stored in the _Copernicus_ ’ databases, it _was_ transferred to us.”

“I can’t say that I’d be surprised, Mr. Data,” Picard replied darkly. “I think it’s time that I had a serious conversation with our _critically important_ guests. Mr. Worf, please have them escorted to my ready room. Mr. Data, you have the bridge until further orders; I’ll need you present during the discussion, though. See that we are continually updated about the situation aboard the _Copernicus_.”

With that, he rose and walked into his ready room with barely suppressed fury. Worf flashed Data a feral grin.

“I wouldn’t want to switch places with our VIPs right now,” he declared with deep satisfaction.

Then he ordered two security officers to the VIP quarters to collect the guests and escort them to the captain’s ready room. This was a confrontation he was looking forward very much; he hoped Data would tell him the details when everything was over.


	7. Acts of Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jerôme Baila is a recurring security officer who appears in many TNG episodes, starting with the pilot itself. We never learn his name, though, and I can’t remember him having any dialogue, although I might be wrong.

Mere minutes later, Jerôme Baila, Worf’s right-hand man, escorted Commander Yarell and Doctor Blodgett to the captain’s ready room. Barely had the door closed behind them, Data was summoned there, too. The android handed over command to Worf and joined them in as much a hurry as he could afford while keeping up the appearance of what he considered proper dignity for a senior Starfleet officer.

It was amazing how fast _dignity_ could move if steered by a positronic brain.

“Sit with us, Commander,” Picard ordered the android, “and please engage recording mode. I want an official record about this conversation. I think it’s high time that we get some answers.”

“I can’t imagine what kind of answers you expect to hear, Captain,” Yarell said dismissively.

Picard gave her a cold glare that usually made battle-hardened Starfleet veterans shake in their boots. As a rule, the captain of the _Enterprise_ was calm, collected and supremely patient. Rarely did he lose the tight grip on his control. But if he did, the following outbreak was… spectacular, to say the least.

“The _truth_ , Commander,” he now said in a coldly furious voice. “Surely it is a concept even an Intelligence officer must have heard about occasionally. I know that your lot prefers to operate in the shadows, and I know that regulations often back your actions, even if they are questionable at best. But now you’ve endangered not the _Copernicus_ only, but also _my_ ship, with families and children aboard; and you’ll tell me the reason, or so God help me, I’ll send you both on a space walk without an EVA suit.”

“Is that a threat, Captain?” Yarell asked, while Blodgett blanched in fear; an enraged Picard often had that effect on people, even on less cowardly ones than the civilian scientist.

“Oh, no, Commander,” Picard replied softly, his eyes very, very dark. “It’s a _promise_. And I’m a man known to keep his promises.”

Yarell gave him a look of stunned disbelief.

“You wouldn’t dare…” she began.

Picard just kept staring at her darkly. “Try me.”

“You’d be court-martialed,” she said, trying to look confident… and failing.

“And you would be _dead_ ,” Picard countered, without missing a beat. “I consider that a bargain.”

“Commander, I hope you’ve recorded everything,” Yarell said to Data. “These threats will serve as hard evidence in Captain Picard’s court-martial.”

“I do not think so,” the android replied amiably. “I might be a sophisticated machine, but not even I am perfect. There can be glitches in my system. Records can be damaged… or completely lost.”

“Are you telling me that you’ll be intentionally manipulating records for your captain’s sake?” Yarell all but hissed at him.

“No, Commander,” Data answered. “I am telling you that I do not take orders from _you_. You are not my superior officer, you come from a different branch, and you do not outrank me. According to my programming, I can only take orders from those directly above me in the chain of command. Those would be Commander Riker and, of course, Captain Picard himself.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, as there couldn’t be the slightest doubt that both Picard and Data meant every word they’d said. Finally Yarell, with a derisive glance at the sweating and shaking Blodgett, shrugged.

“Fine,” she said. “You won’t be the ones who decide about the outcome of this mission anyway. Yes, _I was_ the one who authorised the _Copernicus_ ’ visit to Regulus VI. It was a calculated risk.”

“A _calculated risk_?” Picard replied in absolute shock. “What on Earth could bring anyone to the harebrained idea of violating the Regulan quarantine and taking the worse plague in the entire galaxy aboard a Starfleet vessel?”

“Captain,” Yarell said in a condescending manner, “you fail to see the big picture here. There’s is an undeclared state of war existing between the Federation and the Ferengi Alliance, and Starfleet Intelligence is extremely concerned of what would happen should the greedy little trolls decide to unleash the threat of the bloodworms into Federation territory.”

“You can’t be serious!” Picard frowned. “The Ferengi Alliance hadn’t fought a war against _anyone_ for at least a century! They may make profit of ongoing wars, yes, but they always let others to do the killing and dying part.”

“And what about _your_ encounter with a hostile Ferengi vessel, Captain?” Yarell reminded him. “You very nearly lost the _Stargazer_ with all hands on board by that occasion.”

“It was exactly that: an isolated incident, involving two single ships,” Picard replied. “Not something one should blow up to a declaration of war.”

“The Ferengi are businessmen,” Data added. “Their ultimate goal is profit. It would be contraproductive for them to infest the area where they intend to expand their influence with an incurable disease.”

Dr. Blodgett cleared his throat. “No longer incurable,” he corrected. “Our mission was to find a way to contain plasmasite infestation. We – that is, Commander Ahrens, Lieutenant Hagen and myself – have made a tremendous amount of progress in our studies. We might not have the cure yet, but we’ve come really close.”

“Interesting,” Data commented. “There is no evidence in the logs of the _Copernicus_ that would support this statement.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take the blame for that as well,” Yarell said calmly. “There were no official log entries made. We could not take the chance of their studies falling into Ferengi hands.”

Data glanced at Picard. “In this point I must agree with the Commander, Captain. While the Ferengi might not use the plasmasites as a doomsday weapon in a war of their own, they will _not_ hesitate to sell them to warring parties fighting in safe distance from their area of interest. That is something we cannot allow, in my opinion.”

“It’s good to see that at least one of your officers can see what needs to be done, Captain,” Yarell said snidely. “Even if it’s only a robot.”

Data blinked several times in confusion. “Correction, Commander. I am an android, not a robot. There is significant difference between…”

Picard raised a hand. “Data… not now!”

“Of course, Captain,” the android dropped the topic at once. “In any case, Doctor Blodgett, I need access to your studies… that is the only chance to save the people aboard the _Copernicus_ , should the blood transfusions take too long. I assume you _did_ make personal records.”

“Of course,” the man said. “We couldn’t have worked any other way. The records are with Doctor Hagen aboard the _Copernicus_ , though… password-protected and encoded.”

“Get them,” Picard ordered Data, “and see to it that Sickbay finds a way to use them, if necessary.”

“Aye, Captain,” the android left.

Yarell stared at Picard accusingly. “Captain Picard, are you aware of the fact that you’re sabotaging the most important biomedical research of the decade? One of the assignments of this ship is to defend allies, and that is what the plasmasites would enable us to do: to create a weapon that, by its very existence, would frighten the enemies of the Federation away, without the need to actually use it.”

“That’s the same argument people came up with just before building the first nuclear bomb,” Picard answered dryly, “and we both know where _that_ brilliant idea has led mankind. Wherever such a doomsday weapon exists, invariably so does the temptation to use it. Yes, it is one of our assignments is to defend allies, but the Enterprise is not a military vessel. She’s a vessel of exploration, sent out to be the mobile embassy of the Federation among stars, planets and species previously unknown. You had no right to endanger the lives of a thousand people – among them civilians with small children – because of your imaginary war with the Ferengi.”

Yarell gave him another one of those condescending looks.

“My dear Captain Picard,” she said, “You still don’t understand, do you? The lives aboard the _Copernicus_ , even the lives aboard the _Enterprise_ , are of no importance compared with the plasmasite studies. We cannot afford to be second best to _anyone_. It’s that simple.”

“No, I’m afraid it isn’t,” Picard touched to his comm badge. “Picard to Worf.”

“Worf here,” the gruff voice of the Klingon answered.

“Lieutenant, I want a full security detail in my ready room,” Picard told him. “I want Commander Yarell and Doctor Blodgett escorted to their quarters. They’re not allowed to leave those rooms without a security escort; and they’re not allowed, under _any_ circumstances, to access the comm system, be it short-range, long-range or subspace communication. Is that understood?”

“Understood, Captain.”

“Good. And when they’re gone, you’ll give me Doctor Selar on a secure channel.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Selar listened to the captain’s news with intense focus. The news was cautiously encouraging; assuming she’d be able to persuade the Betazoid scientist to surrender to her the private logs of Doctor Blodgett. Fortunately, she could be very persuasive if she put her mind to it.

“Lieutenant LaForge and Ensigns Nadel and Burke have been beamed back to the _Enterprise_ , with most of the _Copernicus_ ’ survivors,” she informed Picard. “Commander Riker, Doctor Hagen and Ensign Freeman will follow as soon as Haematology Lab can provide them with the necessary blood for the transfusion. That will take time… we are slightly behind schedule, according to Doctor Martin. Lieutenant Eakins and I will be the last ones. In the meantime, I shall… discuss the problem with Doctor Hagen.”

The Betazoid seemed to become all nervous and defensive by that declaration.

“I don’t know what I could possibly do to help you, Doctor,” she said.

“You can start with handing me over Doctor Blodgett’s research,” Selar answered calmly.

Dr. Hagen produced an _almost_ convincing frown. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said.

“I find that highly unlikely,” Selar replied. “According to Captain Picard, Doctor Blodgett has left his research documents – and presumably more than just documents – here, on the _Copernicus_ , with you. At least that is what Doctor Blodgett says, and I see no logical reason for him to lie about it.”

“Perhaps not,” the Betazoid said. “But it doesn’t mean that I’d be obliged to hand the results over to _you_. That is very… sensitive research, on a need-to-know basis.”

“In case you have not realized, Doctor, we _do_ need to know,” Selar answered. “Should you have found a cure against plasmasite infestation, you _are_ obliged to hand it over to me. There are infested people all around you, and thousand other people aboard the _Enterprise_ put to the risk, should the infestation spread.”

“What we found, is merely an enzyme suppressant,” Hagen explained. “An _experimental_ one, which might hinder the plasmasites in feeding on the necessary enzymes in human blood. But it has never been tested. There’s no guarantee that it would actually work. And I’m not authorized to hand over the results to anyone else than Commander Yarell _or_ Doctor Blodgett.”

“I see,” Selar said. “Well, I could argue with you all day, and given enough time, you actually _might_ recognize the logic of my demand. Unfortunately for you, we do not have the time for that. So, either you hand me over the results voluntarily, or I shall take what I need to find directly from your mind.”

The Betazoid stared at the Vulcan in stunned disbelief. “You wouldn’t… A forced mind-meld…”

“… could turn your brain to useless organic residue, yes,” Selar answered calmly. “That would be unfortunate indeed, as you are said to have an excellent scientific mind. I would regret to destroy it, but in this particular case the needs of the many clearly outweigh the needs of the few… or a single person. Consequently, I am allowed to use limited violence within the defined parameters of my duty as the acting Chief Medical Officer of the _Enterprise_.”

“You damn Vulcans and your _defined parameters_!” Dr. Hagen snarled, her beautiful face twisting into a grotesque mask of anger and hatred. “You make it so easy for yourselves to twist everything according to your own interest. Even your own rules!”

“On the contrary,” Selar replied coolly. “The demands on a Vulcan's character are extraordinarily difficult. Do not mistake composure for ease. If I do this, if I take the information I need from your mind by force, I shall be excluded from the medical department of the Vulcan Academy of Sciences, and dishonourably discharged as a Starfleet officer. I might also lose custody of my daughter. Such things are taken very seriously on Vulcan, so do not tell me I am making this _easy_ for myself.”

“You could lose everything you’ve been working for all your life, and yet you’d be willing to do it nonetheless?” Eakins asked in surprise. “Why?”

“Because the needs of the many _do_ outweigh the needs of the few… or those of a single person, even if that person is me,” Selar answered. “We need to stop this threat, here and now. No matter what the costs are.”

“I would give her what she wants if I were you,” Freeman told Dr. Hagen encouragingly. “She isn’t bluffing. I’ve been working with her for years, and she’s never said anything that she wouldn’t actually _mean_.”

Dr. Hagen hesitated for a moment, fear for her own mental health and stubbornness clearly warring in her mind… then she fished a decoder chip from the pocket of her blue uniform tunic and tossed it at Selar. The Vulcan caught it mid-air effortlessly.

“The experimental serum is in the Isolation Lab,” the Betazoid told her smugly. “In our sickbay.”

Which meant outside the repulsor field, in the middle of a swarm of bloodworms… a swarm of unknown magnitude. Whoever would go there, it would be a suicidal act at best.

Selar glanced at Riker. “I am the only one with a hazmat suit, Commander. I shall go.”

“No,” Riker answered grimly. “We _all_ go. It will take the bloodworms some time to realize we aren’t here anymore… and being unprotected might inspire Doctor Hagen here to be a little more cooperative,” he touched his comm badge. “Riker to _Enterprise_. Mr. O’Brien, beam us over to the _Copernicus_ ’ sickbay. All of us.”

“Number One, are you sure you want to leave the relative safety of the repulsor field?” Picard, who’d been monitoring their conversation, asked in concern.

“We have no other choice, Captain,” Riker answered. “That’s where the experimental serum is stored; and the repulsor field’s going to fail within moments anyway.”

“Very well,” Picard said with a heavy sigh. “Make it so, Mr. O’Brien.”

“Transfer complete, sir,” O’Brien reported a moment later.

“The repulsor field in the cargo bay of the _Copernicus_ has weakened considerably, Captain,” Data added, almost at the same time. “It will shut down completely in two point nine six minutes.”

“How long until the bloodworms figure out where our people have gone?” Picard asked.

“Unknown, Captain,” the android replied. “We do not know whether the plasmasites possess any rudimental intelligence at all… or probably a hive mind that would allow them coordinated attacks. Another possibility would be…”

“Thank you, Mr. Data,” Picard interrupted. “Just… monitor their progress closely.”

“Of course, Captain,” Data didn’t understand why his commanding officer would feel it necessary to repeat previously given orders. Humans – well, organic beings in general – could be really confusing sometimes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
The rest of the _Enterprise_ away team rematerialized in the _Copernicus_ ’ sickbay, with a _very_ reluctant Betazoid scientist in tow. Eakins switched on the tricorder and scanned their surroundings.

“No other lifesigns in a radius of twenty metres,” he reported to Riker, “But we’ve seen how quickly that could change. We should hurry up, sir.”

“You get no argument from me,” Riker said grimly.

“Show me the way,” Selar ordered Dr. Hagen.

The Betazoid led her to the isolation lab and showed her the safety storage unit where the experimental serum was kept. Selar removed the small cooler box with the sealed vials within and pushed it into Freeman’s hands.

“Fill the syringes with the serum, Ensign,” she ordered, “While I download all necessary information. We shall start injecting everyone as soon as the serum has reached standard body temperature.”

“Leave one vial untouched, Freeman,” Riker added. “Doctor Selar will take it to the _Enterprise_ as soon as she’s completed the download.”

“Commander, I should remain here,” the Vulcan started protesting, but Riker silenced her with a gesture.

“No, Doctor. You’re the only one who might still be uninfected, due to the hazmat gear; _and_ the only one who knows how to use the serum for further research.”

“I am certain that Doctor Hagen has extensive knowledge about that,” Selar pointed out. “More extensive than I have, in fact.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t trust her any further than I could throw her,” Riker answered, “Which I’d actually _love_ to do. Preferably through an open airlock. So, I’d ask you to take her with you, least I’d give in to the temptation.”

“Doctor Selar,” Freeman said, staring at the opened cooler bow with a frown. “There are only four vials here.”

“That should be enough,” Selar replied. “Doctor Hagen and I have not been exposed to the plasmasites yet, so we can be beamed over to the _Enterprise_ ’s Isolation Lab with minimal risk for our medical personnel.”

“ _If_ you move _now_ ,” Riker said.

“We shall,” Selar removed the decoder chip from the medical computer and pocketed it, together with her medical tricorder. “Data transfer completed. We are ready to go.”

“Understood,” Riker touched his comm badge. “Riker to _Enterprise_. Captain, we have the data – and a sample of the enzyme suppressant – secured. Doctor Selar and Doctor Hagen are ready to beam over with it; beaming directly to the Isolation Lab.”

“Acknowledged,” Picard said. “What about the rest of you?”

“We’ll give the enzyme suppressant a trial run,” Riker explained, “hoping that it works and keeps us alive until we can receive our transfusions.”

“You’re taking a great risk, Number One,” Picard warned.

“Yes, we are,” Riker agreed, “but if we don’t we’ll be dead anyway. It’s not like we’d have that many chances.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true,” Picard admitted. “Very well. Carry on, Number One. _Enterprise_ out.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
A moment later the transporter beam caught and carried away Selar and Hagen. They took one vial with the enzyme suppressant sample and the research date with them. Now everything was up to the medical staff of the _Enterprise_.

Eakins looked at Riker. “What now, sir?”

“Keep scanning the area for bloodworms,” Riker instructed. “I’ll seal the doors in the meantime. _And_ the maintenance tunnel entrances.”

“That still leaves the ventilation system, sir,” Eakins reminded him.

Riker shrugged. “Yeah, I know, but we need to breathe. At least blocking all other possible access routes will narrow down the possibilities for the worms, too.”

“And let them concentrate their efforts to break through the airducts,” Eakins said morosely.

“Let’s hope we’ll be safely gone before that,” Riker said, looking at Freeman. “How long till you can give us the shots, Ensign?”

“The serum will reach the average human body temperature within the minute, Sir,” Freeman replied, eyeing the readouts on the box. “I don’t dare to break the seal before that; it might damage the serum.”

“I just hope we do have that minute left,” Eakins commented sourly.

Freeman didn’t answer. Something caught his attention concerning the vials. Something he didn’t like at all.

The seal on one of the vials seemed to be broken. Or, at least, damaged. That was not good, not good at all.

“Is something wrong, Ensign?” Riker asked, seeing the frown deepen on the medical technician’s slightly pudgy face.

“No, sir,” Freeman lied smoothly. “The serum has reached the right temperature now.”

“Good,” Riker said, clearly relieved. “I want the two of you go first.”

“That wouldn’t be such a good idea, sir,” Freeman tried to speak as calmly as possible. “I should be the last one, so that I can take the necessary measures, should either of you have an allergic reaction to the suppressant. This serum hasn’t been tested yet; negative side effects are well within the realm of possibility.”

“Nonsense,” Eakins argued. “Emergency measures can be taken after we’ve been beamed over to the _Enterprise_. But you won’t be able to protect yourself when we are both k.o. You aren’t a trained security officer.”

“I still can fire a phaser if I have to,” Freeman filled two of the hypospray syringes from the vials with the unbroken seal and inserted them into the handy little instrument. “Besides, I _am_ a trained medical technician, and thereby I declare this pointless argument for closed.”

Before the other two could have answered, he stepped up first to Riker, then to Eakins and pressed the hypospray to their necks, injecting the enzyme suppressant directly into their bloodstream.

The results were… mixed at best. Riker lost consciousness at once. Eakins had enough time to toss his phaser at his partner.

“Just in case,” he whispered before falling unconscious, too.

Freeman touched his com badge. “Ensign Freeman to _Enterprise_. Commander Riker and Lieutenant Eakins have lost consciousness upon being given the serum; it might be an allergic reaction. They should be beamed directly to Sickbay.”

“Understood,” Picard replied. “What about you, Ensign?”

“The seal on the last vial seems to be broken,” Freeman explained. “I don’t dare to inject myself with the serum; it could have been compromised. I’ll have to wait for the blood transfusion as I am.”

“Sickbay will have the blood ready in eight minutes,” Picard told him. “Can you hold out that long?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Freeman answered honestly. “It depends on how long it takes for the worms to find me.”

“Do you have any weapons?” Picard asked.

“Lieutenant Eakins gave me his phaser, but…” Freeman trailed off. They both knew how little a mere hand phaser would help him against the indestructible creatures.

“I see,” Picard sighed. “I’ll tell Sickbay to hurry up. _Enterprise_ out.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“Captain,” O’Brien called the bridge, “Commander Riker and Lieutenant Eakins have arrived. According to the medical emergency team, they’re in a reasonably good shape and will regain consciousness, soon. Doctor Selar has put them under quarantine in Auxiliary Sickbay, until the blood transfusion can be completed.”

“What about Selar and Doctor Hagen?” Picard asked.

“They haven’t been infected,” O’Brien said. “Doctor Hagen is on her way to the bridge. She says she wants to hand in an official complaint against Doctor Selar.”

“Understood. Keep the transporter on standby,” Picard ordered. “We might have to beam out Ensign Freeman in a hurry.”

“Yes, sir,” O’Brien signed out.

In the meantime, Doctor Hagen reached the bridge, and simultaneously, Auxiliary Sickbay reported that Riker and Eakins had regained consciousness and were feeling well… considering the circumstances.

“Does this mean that we’ve actually found a cure?” Picard asked.

But Selar nipped his hopes in the bud. “No, Captain. The enzyme suppressor merely buys us time to perform the blood transfusion on the infected person. However, I do believe that we could use Doctor Blodgett’s research to develop an actual cure. The results look promising. I would like to ask your permission to have him work in Haematology Lab, sir.”

“Do you trust him?” Picard asked.

“No,” Selar replied bluntly. “But he is our only expert on plasmasites, and we need him. Perhaps Counselor Troi could monitor him and alert us when he tries to mislead us.”

Picard looked at Troi who was already rising from her seat. “On my way, Captain.”

“Do you want Doctor Hagen’s help as well?” Picard asked Selar.

“No, Captain,” the Vulcan replied. “She is a full Betazoid, and as such she would be able to mask her true intentions from Counselor Troi. Doctor Blodgett would not. I suggest putting Doctor Hagen under arrest for the time being. I do not believe that we could trust her.”

“I find myself in complete agreement,” Picard looked at Worf. “Have her quarters watched, Mr. Worf. Choose the telepathically least sensitive security personnel. We do not need any more nasty surprises.”

“Yes, sir,” the Klingon gestured to two security guards who removed the pretty Betazoid scientist from the bridge.

“Freeman to _Enterprise_ ,” the panicked voice of the medical technician came through the comm system. “Can you beam me over, _now_? I can hear the sound of the bloodworms approaching through the ventilation system… according to the tricorder, there are hundreds of them!”

“Mr. O’Brien?” Picard prompted.

“I can’t get a lock on him,” the voice of the transporter chief was a little frantic. “His lifesigns are masked by those of the bloodworms… There are too many of them, and they’re too close to him… If I tried to beam him over, I’d get the bloodworms, too… Captain, I’m sorry, but there’s just no way to separate them.”

“I see,” Picard said heavily. “Keep trying, Mr. O’Brien.”

“There’s gotta be _something_ you could do!” Eakins’ anguished voice could be heard through the channel that was still open to Auxiliary Sickbay. “You can’t just have those… those _things_ eat him alive. Colin! Colin!”

“I’m sorry, Dan, I really am,” Freeman answered from aboard the _Copernicus_ , his voice heavy with resignation. “This isn’t how I’ve imagined things to go on. Thank God you left me the phaser. It will make everything easier.”

“Colin, no!” Eakins cried out in despair.

“I’m sorry,” Freeman repeated.

Then there was a loud, bone-shattering scream before the sound of a single phaser burst could be heard, signifying the end of the man’s life. The open com channel to the _Copernicus_ filled with static.

“Turn it off,” Picard ordered Worf. “There’s nothing we can do. I’ll be in my ready room, composing a report to Starfleet Command. Call me if I’m needed.”


	8. Against All Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the whole pseudo-science is simply makebelief and not to be taken seriously. I’m not a doctor, or a medical scientist, so don’t expect any scientific accuracy. Simon Tarses is a canon character.

It took two medical technicians – among them Ensign Simon Tarses, who was considerably stronger than the average human being, due to a Vulcan ancestor somewhere up his family tree – to restrain the screaming and kicking Eakins long enough for Dr. Martin to give him a strong sedative. After that, the young man was out like a light, leaving the duty personnel of Auxiliary Sickbay in a somewhat dazed state. No-one had seen the quiet, reserved, infallibly polite Dan Eakins make such a spectacle of himself. _Ever_.

“I can’t blame him, though,” Nurse McClusker muttered; she was a hopeless romantic, especially where the lives of other people were considered. “They’ve just celebrated their fourth anniversary… that’s a long time for such young people.”

“Don’t forget that poor Hodell was his friend, too,” Dr. Martin reminded her. “That’s two in a single day who were close to him, one way or another… and Lieutenant Eakins doesn’t do _close_ much. It will be hard on him, once he wakes up.”

“We can’t keep him under all the time, though,” Simon Tarses pointed out reasonably. “Perhaps Counselor Troi can do something for him, once this plasmasite research is over.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Martin allowed thoughtfully. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine the extremely private Eakins pouring out his heart to Deanna Troi.

“In any case,” Nurse Ogawa added, bringing the blood bags for Riker’s transfusion from Haematology, “we’ll all miss Colin Freeman. He was such a nice guy; I loved to have the duty shift with him. He always had a story to share, a joke to tell… _and_ he was the gentlest soul I’ve ever seen in a man. It’s a crying shame the best ones are always taken,” she added, somewhat wistfully, thinking of her less than ideal partner.

“We should throw him a farewell party,” Dr. Mahrwini suggested, on her way to the Isolation Lab. “Knowing him, he’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah, but Lieutenant Eakins probably wouldn’t,” Tarses commented soberly. Dr. Mahrwini shrugged.

“It wouldn’t be _his_ party; it would be Freeman’s,” then she glanced at the control screen next to the lab door. “Oh. It seems IsoLab is ready to accept patients for exsanguination. Put on a hazmat suit, Simon, and come with me. This will be fun… not!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“How are Commander Riker and Lieutenant Eakins doing?” Picard asked several hours later. He was holding an impromptu meeting in his ready room, with Data, Troi, Selar and an uncomfortable-looking Dr. Blodgett attending. LaForge was having the bridge.

“They are recovering in Auxiliary Sickbay according to previous expectations,” Selar answered with Vulcan precisity. “The blood transfusions went well, without putting any additional stress on their systems, and they are now both one hundred per cent free of plasmasites. I expect at least Commander Riker to be released in one more hour. All he needs is a little rest.”

“What about Lieutenant Eakins?” Picard asked.

“His case is a bit more… complicated,” the Vulcan admitted. “His physical condition is as good as one can expect after what he has been through. His mental condition, however…”

“Lieutenant Eakins has suffered a deep emotional shock,” Troi took over. “Once he wakes up, we can expect either a volatile reaction to Ensign Freeman’s death and towards the people who, in his opinion, have caused it,” she gave a squirming Blodgett a meaningful look, “or he’ll completely withdraw into himself, bottle everything in, until…”

“… until it becomes too much for him, and we’ll be back to the volatile reaction,” Picard nodded in understanding. “What do you suggest, Counselor? How are we supposed to deal with him?”

“I’d like to keep him in Sickbay a little longer, where he could be watched twenty-four/seven, but I’m afraid that isn’t an option,” Troi replied. “His physical condition doesn’t justify it, and he’s too intelligent to be fooled. But if he’s released, I suggest monitoring his quarters.”

“For suicidal tendencies?” Picard asked.

“For any sign of violence,” Troi corrected. “Whether it’s aimed against himself… or someone else.”

Picard nodded. The idea of spying on one of his own people didn’t appeal to him, but he understood that in this particular case it would be necessary – to save the young man from himself.

“Make it so, Counselor,” he said; then he turned back to Selar. “Doctor, what about getting the plasmasite infestation under control? Have you made any progress?”

“Actually, we have,” Selar answered, “but our problems are not yet over. The main question is: what should we do with the _Copernicus_? Clearly, we cannot afford to let it float away freely in space. Not while it is still full of bloodworms.”

“No,” Picard agreed. “But we could carry out the Code Nine directive and destroy her. There’s nothing left aboard, _except_ the bloodworms, and the ship’s systems have been seriously damaged already.”

“I am afraid it is not that simply,” Selar said. “As we know, we cannot kill the plasmasites by the way of standard weapons; they merely become wavicles and spread. Now, if the _Copernicus_ is destroyed, there is a chance that they would be unleashing an incalculable number of wavicles into deep space. They would eventually locate a world with warm-blooded beings, and the horror would start all over again.”

Picard looked at Data in concern. “Is that possible, Data? _Can_ the wavicles survive in empty space?”

“Unknown,” the android replied promptly. “Insufficient data input. There are no records about it having been witnessed.”

“Give me a scientific estimate, based on what we already know about the bloodworms,” Picard ordered.

Data processed the available information for roughly two point nine seven seconds. “The possibility is unlikely,” he finally decided, “but it does indeed exist.”

“I believe the genetic manipulation of the original bloodworms is the key,” Selar said. “These plasmasites are… stuck in their lifecycle in some way. Their inability to properly metamorphosize is the thing that makes them so violent.”

“Doctor Selar and I have been comparing the genetic sequences of common bloodworms and the plasmasite brought back from the _Copernicus_ ,” Blodgett added. “I think we have found the aberration that makes the plasmasites so different. If my theory is right, there is a way to alter that genetic instruction which makes the plasmasites permanently hungry, which could then, theoretically, allow them to move to the next step of their evolution.”

Picard glanced at Troi who gave him a barely visible nod, signalling that Blodgett was telling the truth… or, at least, what he _believed_ to be the truth. Whether he was right or not about it was another question entirely, of course.

“Sounds promising,” Picard said. “So, where’s the catch?”

Blodgett sighed. “The main problem is that the only way to test this cure is to use a human volunteer,” he admitted.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“No,” Picard said determinedly. “Absolutely _not_. Out of question. Forget it. I won’t feed another member of my crew to those monsters, volunteer or not. We’ll find another way to deal with them.”

“We might not have the time, Captain,” Data intervened. “I have been calculating the _Copernicus_ ’ heading.”

‘And?” Picard pressed.

“Sir… she is heading for the heart of Ferengi space,” the android ratted down the coordinates.

“That’s impossible,” Picard whispered.

“On the contrary, Captain, that is the fact,” Data countered. “Admittedly, the ship has been drifting since our arrival, but if you drew an imaginary line between Regulus VI and her current position, the other end of the line would point directly at the supposed location of Ferenginar.”

“Their home planet,” Picard murmured. “The very centre of the Ferengi Alliance.”

“Fifteen billion inhabitants on Ferenginar alone,” Troi added grimly. “Not counted the habitable moons and the orbital stations.”

Selar looked at her with a blank face only a very surprised Vulcan could display. “I was not aware that such detailed knowledge would be available about the Ferengi homeworld,” she said.

“It isn’t public knowledge,” Troi admitted, “but there are wealthy renegades living even on Federation Starbases, and if someone can give _Oo-mox_ as well as my mother can…”she shrugged, not finishing the sentence.

Not that there would have been any need. Ambassador Lwaxana Troi was a well-known (and dreaded) quality aboard the _Enterprise_. But aside from her personality quirks, her intel was usually spot on.

“Which means that we’ll be causing full-scale genocide, unless we do something,” Picard said, and gave Blodgett a sharp, inquisitive look. “What did _you_ know about this?”

“Nothing,” the man answered honestly. “I was only responsible for the research. Everything else was Commander Yarell’s business, and she didn’t let us look into her cards.”

“I see,” Picard paused for a moment to bring his fury under control. “I think it’s time to have another chat with Commander Yarell.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
They returned to the bridge to re-check the _Copernicus_ ’ heading, although there was little chance that Data would have miscalculated. He didn’t make those kinds of mistakes. Soon, a somewhat tired yet otherwise completely healthy arrived, too, asking permission to resume his duties. Picard granted his request. Riker’s solid presence was more than welcome in the upcoming confrontation with the Intelligence officer.

A few minutes later Jerôme Baila emerged from the turbolift, escorting a coldly smiling Commander Yarell to the bridge.

“Commander Yarell, sir,” he reported, a bit unnecessarily, but true to the regs.

Picard nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Baila. Mr. Worf, give me shipwide,” he ordered the Klingon. “I want everybody on board to hear this. We might need witnesses. So, Commander Yarell, care to tell me why the _Copernicus_ was heading for the heart of Ferengi space?”

“They had their orders,” Yarell replied dismissively.

“Orders given by _whom_?” Picard demanded.

“By me, of course,” Yarell admitted, not showing the slightest sign of repentance. “You must understand Captain; I’ve been studying the Ferengi menace for fifteen years. You believe you know them? Let me assure you: you have no idea what they are capable of. Even I have barely scratched the surface.

“What does this have to do with the bloodworm threat?” Riker asked. “Are we in a competition in xenobiology or what?”

“In a matter… yes, we are,” Yarell answered. “Even you must admit, Commander, that this would be the perfect way to obliterate the Ferengi threat: by infiltrating their territory with the modified plasmasites.”

“You are talking about genocide,” Picard said, shocked that she would admit it so freely.

“No, Captain,” she retorted. “I’m talking about defending Federation space by the way of a pre-emptive strike. Or isn’t the _Enterprise_ supposed to defend Federation space?”

“I don’t think this would do anything with defending Federation space,” Picard said, disgust clearly written in his face. “I believe this is nothing more than blind hatred on your part, Commander, using defence as a cover. I wanted to give you a chance to undo some of the harm you’ve caused, but I see now that you’re a lost case.”

He looked at Baila. “Mr. Baila, escort Commander Yarell to the brig. She’ll be safely tucked away there until we have time to deal with her.”

Baila moved towards Yarell, but she topped him with a gesture, pulling something out of the pocket of her black uniform jacket. It was a small containment jar, filled with purple and gold sparkles.

“You still don’t understand it, Captain, do you?” she smiled coldly. “You’re not the one who gives the orders here… _I am_. And unless you take us into Ferengi space, with the _Copernicus_ on a tractor beam, I’ll open this repulsor jar and unleash the plasmasites on the whole ship. Your choice.”

The bridge crew stared at her in open-mouthed shock. The plasmasites, clearly in wavicle form by the sight of them, wouldn’t be contained by bulkheads or forcefields. They’d find their way into the smallest, furthers corners of the ship, killing everyone on board.

Picard seemed to come to the same conclusion because he nodded firmly. “Very well. But I warn you, Commander: this will have consequences. You aren’t the only one with contacts in high places. I’ll make you pay for this action.”

“Captain!” Riker protested. “You can’t…”

“I see no alternative, Number One,” Picard replied calmly. “Mr. Haskell, lay in a direct course to Ferenginar. Lieutenant LaForge, engage aft tractor beam and give me the best speed you can. I want this to be dealt with as soon as possible.”

“Captain, Number Two engine is still down for dilithium recalibration,” La Forge reminded him. “We can’t run it with hot warp.”

Haskell opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but snapped it closed at once, seeing Riker’s quelling look. Picard shook his head in disgust, murmured something about incompetence and turned to Yarell.

“Well, Commander, it seems that there will be a short delay.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied confidently, and actually had the cheek to sit down in the command chair. “If nothing else, I’m extremely patient. I’ve waited fifteen years; I can wait another couple of hours.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Waiting for the engineering team to finish dilithium recalibration wasn’t a pleasant affair. Least of all for Picard and his senior staff, who were well aware of the fact that nothing of that sort was being done down in Engineering. Dilithium recalibration could only be done in the safety labs of a Starbase or a well-equipped drydock, not aboard a starship in deep space. Fortunately, Yarell didn’t have the necessary engineering knowledge to call their bluff.

Still, the whole situation was parsecs away from being under control. Sure, LaForge’s bluff _had_ bought them a little time. The true problem was, however, that not one of them had the faintest idea _what_ to do with that time. It was a deadlock of the worst sort, and after half an hour Picard, usually the calmness in personification, was fit to climb the walls.

He’d never felt this helpless in his whole life.

Consequently, he was almost happy when the turbolift doors opened, releasing onto the bridge a pale and somewhat shaky Dan Eakins. The lieutenant was wearing his duty uniform, including his phaser holster, and seemed amazingly collected, considering his recent losses.

“Captain,” he said in a low, even voice, “permission to resume my duties.”

“Are you really up to it, Lieutenant?” Picard asked in concern. “Has Doctor Selar released you from Sickbay?”

“I’ve released myself, sir,” Eakins answered. “I was going mad down there, and the doctors could find no sound reason to keep me there. Besides, Sickbay isn’t the best place for me to be. Everything there reminds me of Colin,” he added, his voice suddenly broken and hopeless.

Picard nodded. “All right, Lieutenant. Permission granted. Take your duty station.”

“Thank you, sir,” but instead of walking up to the security station and relieving Worf, Eakins suddenly spun around and aimed his phaser at Yarell, who was still sitting in the command chair, displaying an expression of affected boredom.

“I’ve heard everything,” he said in a voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “ _You_ ’ve murdered them… all of them. The people on board the _Copernicus_ , and Colin, too. He was my life, and now he’s dead, because of you!”

“Don’t be so overdramatic, Lieutenant,” Yarell replied, waving at him with the repulsor jar. “Put away your little toy and scurry off as long as you still can. Do you really want me to unleash my little darlings all over this ship?”

“I won’t be so overconfident, Commander,” Eakins riposted through gritted teeth, his voice barely human. “I’ve held the Academy records for years; I’m still faster than anyone else on this ship, and this phaser is set to kill. Are you _sure_ I won’t be able to evaporate your sorry head before you could open that jar? Besides, I think you’re bluffing. You’re too much of a spineless coward to die with us.”

“Lieutenant,” Picard stepped in the way of the weapon, “I’m ordering you to lower your weapon.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that,” Eakins answered. “This woman is a liar and a mass murderer, and I can’t let her get away with it.”

“She won’t,” Riker promised, approaching the desperate man from the other side. “But simply killing her won’t do, no matter how much she’s deserved it. Let Starfleet take care of her, in the way it should be done.”

Eakins shook his head frantically. “Oh, no. That won’t do. I’ve seen before how Intelligence officers got away with just about everything because of their connections. I won’t allow _that_ to happen. She’s murdered Colin, as surely as if she’d pulled the trigger with her own hand. She doesn’t deserve to live.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Riker agreed bluntly, “But we can’t be jury, judge and executioner all in one. Then we wouldn’t be a tad better than she is. Now, give me that phaser, Lieutenant. I won’t ask you again!”

He held out his hand, waiting with forced patience, by no way certain what would happen. A few tense moments passed, then Eakins hands his phaser to Riker, breaking down in tears. Riker threw the phaser to Worf, took Eakins in his arms and let him give in to his grief.

The others looked away, not wanting to invade the privacy of Eakins’ pain…

…until they heard Yarell’s scream of anger – or fear? Whirling around, they saw that in an unobserved moment Blodgett had snatched the jar from her, opened it and was now actually swallowing the plasmasites.

“What are you doing, Doctor?” Picard shouted, as the gold and purple sparks were absorbed by the man’s body.

“Trying to clean up this sorry mess,” Blodgett replied calmly. “I think you should have me beamed over to the _Copernicus_ , Captain, together with a sample of the new cure Doctor Selar and I have come up between us.”

“You ought to go to Sickbay,” Picard said. “Perhaps it isn’t too late yet for…”

“No, Captain,” Blodgett interrupted. “I’ve made a grave mistake by believing the Commander, and now this is my opportunity to make up for that mistake. To test the cure, we need a human volunteer; well, I _am_ volunteering. I helped to create this… this problem, so it’s my responsibility to help solving it. Please, let this be my redemption. I couldn’t live with the memory of those dead people haunting me each night otherwise.”

Picard looked at the man for an endless moment, saw the honest regret on his face… and nodded.

“Very well. Let’s give it a try. Go directly to the transporter room and beam over to the _Copernicus_ immediately. “We can’t risk you to infect any other people by accident. Doctor Selar will send the cure after you.”

“Yes, Captain,” with a grateful look, Blodgett stepped into the turbolift cabin.

Picard turned to Worf’s right-hand-man. “Mr. Baila, kindly remove Commander Yarell from my bridge. I believe she will enjoy the privacy of the high security cell.”

“Gladly, Captain,” to everyone’s surprise, Baila pulled his phaser, set it at heavy stun and shot Yarell. “Just in case she’d be planning to escape on our way down to the brig,” he explained, threw the unconscious woman over his shoulder and left, slightly staggering under her weight.

Riker looked at Worf. “Mr. Worf, remind me of this moment when crew evaluation is due again. I think Ensign Baila has more than deserved a promotion.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Within minutes, Blodgett was beamed over to the _Copernicus_ , and the small vial with a sample of the experimental cure sent after him in a secured box.

“I have established visual feed from the _Copernicus_ ’ sickbay, Captain,” Data reported. “You can follow Doctor Blodgett’s progress on the main viewer.”

The entire senior staff was collected on the bridge and watched Blodgett on the screen, injecting himself the cure. Barely had he finished, the wavicles from all over the ship began to swarm over his body and were absorbed by it. 

Strangely enough, he didn’t seem to be in pain… on the contrary. There was something almost ecstatic in his expression, even as his whole body was being transformed into a beautiful glowing cloud of colour and light and flickering sparkles, his physical form breaking down on the molecular level and turning into pure energy, right before the shocked eyes of the Enterprise crew.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Riker murmured, watching the light show in awe. “What the hell was _that_?”

“There is an ancient Vulcan legend, from the times way before the Reformation,” Selar said quietly, “about a species of pure light, called the sparkle-dancers. Creatures said to roam empty space between stars and planets, until they find a suitable host, in which the next generation can he gestated. The host then gets transformed into one of the dancers himself, and flies off with them to continue their eternal wandering. Look!”

They all watched with open-mouthed astonishment as the light, now filling the entire Sickbay of the _Copernicus_ , exploded outward, rejoined in space and set off like a colony of dancing butterflies of light and energy.

“But how did these wondrous creatures become the vicious plasmasites?” Troi was the first to phrase the question of all.

“I fear that we cannot answer that question just yet,” Selar admitted. “I shall propose to the Vulcan Academy of Sciences to research the history of the Regulan Wars. Perhaps one day we may find out how the now extinct inhabitants of Regulus VI managed to trap the sparkle dancers and use them to drastically change the physiology of the bloodworms, destroying their own species in the process. Perhaps we shall never learn the truth. But even if we do not, we might get the chance to free the sparkle dancers still trapped on Regulus VI.”

“Should we really do that?” Picard asked very seriously. “At least the plasmasites are safely quarantined on Regulus VI – unless some irresponsible fool like Commander Yarell interferes, that is. They can’t leave the planet on their own. _After_ the metamorphosis, however, there will be no way to stop the sparkle dancers.”

“There will be certainly a great deal of consideration before any actual steps could be made,” Selar replied. “There is a chance that the sparkle dancers, in their ultimate form, possess some sort of intelligence, in which case we can negotiate with them and come to an understanding, eventually. In any case, this is not our decision to make.”

“A fact for which I am eternally grateful,” Picard said. “What we ought to discuss, though, is what we should do with the _Copernicus_. Doctor Selar, should we destroy the ship, would it still mean that the wavicles set free from the plasmasites could spread the infection any further?”

Selar shook her head. “Not if we can beam a sample of the cure aboard before blowing the ship up. That way, the sparkle dancers can join the colony that has already left. According to the legend, these creatures always travel in swarms.”

“Yes, but can we base our actions on ancient legends, the scientific accuracy of which we can my no means confirm?” Data asked.

“I believe what we have just witnessed should be confirmation enough for at least the basics of those legends,” Selar said. “Everything else will be the subject of further research. We shall have to send a detailed report to Starfleet Sciences as well.”

“Undoubtedly,” Picard agreed. “I’ll feel better if we had clear orders from Starfleet Command concerning both the bloodworm situation _and_ Commander Yarell’s role in this tragedy,” he rose from the command chair. “Number One, you have the bridge. Lieutenant Eakins, I want to see you in my ready room. Counselor Troi, Doctor Selar, if you would join us… we still have a disciplinary matter to deal with.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
“I hope you understand it, Lieutenant, that we all sympathize with your motivation,” Picard began, choosing his words carefully. “But the facts remain facts. “You _have_ threatened a superior officer with a deadly weapon, and that on the bridge, of all places. I can’t ignore those facts.”

“I understand that, Captain,” Eakins was pale but collected. “And I’ll make it easier for you,” he handed his commanding officer a PADD with an opened document on screen. “Hereby I’m resigning my commission as a Starfleet officer.”

Picard read the document and nodded slowly. “Perhaps that would be the best solution indeed. But what are you going to do with your life?”

Eakins shrugged. “Does it matter? I _have_ no life. Not anymore. Not without Colin. Eventually, I’m gonna find a place.”

“You need help, Lieutenant,” Troi said gently. “You should consider therapy. After the shock you’ve experienced…”

Eakins shook his head. “Forget it. I won’t allow any of you shrinks poke around in my head. This is my loss and my grief; it’s nobody else’s business.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Troi warned him, disapproval clear in her voice.

“It’s my mistake to make,” Eakins replied stubbornly.

Selar cleared her throat. “Perhaps,” she suggested, “Lieutenant Eakins would profit from spending time in a Vulcan monastery. There he would have time – and the necessary peace – to deal with his loss and contemplate a different direction for his future. Also, should he feel the need to talk to someone, he can turn to one of the Masters for guidance. They are known for their absolute discretion.”

“It could work,” Picard agreed. “It’s in any case better than medical leave for an undefined time,” he looked at Eakins. “What do you think, Lieutenant? Ready to give it a try?”

Eakins considered the suggestion for a while; then he shrugged.

“As good a place as any other,” he said. “At least it would be _quiet_ there.”

“Very well,” Picard said. “I’ll see into your discharge documents and see that you get a transfer to Vulcan as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, sir,” Eakins replied simply. There really wasn’t anything else to say. The sooner he got away from the _Enterprise_ and the memories connected to it the better it would be for him.

Picard nodded. “You are welcome. Oh, and Lieutenant… my sincerest condolences.”

 

~The End~


End file.
